The Game We Play
by Dark Jester
Summary: IMPORTANT: Please check out the FULL and edited version of TGWP on http: // thegameweplay . live journal . com /profile
1. The Cheshire Bat

Chapter 1 - The Cheshire Bat  
  
After a very long, and equally relaxing weekend with Harley, Joker had dealt with quite enough. He told her to shove off for a while.. and then retreated to his drawing table. Plans upon plans littered the desk and floor, wrinkled and covered in pencil scratches. So many options.. so many ways to attract the Bat's attention.. but so many complications, as well.  
  
He sighed heavily and sat down at the desk, feeling the chair creak under his thin frame. It was time to return to work.. but after a few days of not even thinking on the subject, it would be hard to delve back in. Batman was becoming all the more difficult to play with nowadays... all those new gadgets and handy little side-kicks.   
  
"Side-kicks," Joker muttered through his gloved fingers. "Hmph.." He rested one arm over the back of his chair, and his chin on his right hand. "I'm sure that's all they are," he grumbled sarcastically. "Side-kicks must be rodent-code for something." He giggled a little and bit the tip of his middle finger. "I should crack it someday."  
  
The Clown Prince of Crime leapt from his chair after a few hours, grinning madly with devious intent. "Ha-ha! I know something that will gather his eyes for sure! And if this doesn't, I don't know what will!"   
  
He spends the rest of his night planning for the event, giggling and scribbling on pieces of paper...  
  
Back at the Manor, Batman was pondering recent events. The encounter with Two-Face on the bridge, dinner with Miss Kyle, her disappearance without another word, and a very strange encounter with the Joker in a bath towel. . .  
  
He shuddered inwardly as he realized that thinking about a date had shifted into an image of his half-naked arch nemesis, handcuffed to a water pipe.  
  
It was times like this he was afraid he really was losing his mind.  
  
***  
  
The next day....  
  
Sirens all throughout Arkham began ringing, alerting every cop in Gotham that something was wrong in the nuthouse.   
  
"Oops.. I didn't remember that being there." Joker put his hands on his hips and frowned. "They must've just installed it."  
  
Bruce Wayne had just gotten to sleep when Alfred awoke him, alerting him to the problem at Arkham.  
  
*During the day?* He thought. He hated wearing the suit during the day, but he didn't have much choice.  
  
He hurried down to the cave, noticing that he'd left a copy of "Alice and Wonderland" out in the study the night before. Funny, he didn't remember reading that book last night.  
  
He opened the secret door and headed down to the Batcave. . .  
  
*But I don't want to go among mad people.* He thought, remembering the story and it's odd applicability in his current situation.  
  
'Oh, you can't help that,' said the Bat. 'We're all mad here.'  
  
Cat. That was the Cat. Wasn't it?  
  
He descended the stairs. . .  
  
'I'm mad, you're mad.'  
  
He donned the Bat suit and drove toward Arkham. . .  
  
*How do you know I'm mad?* He thought, stuck in the book's dialogue. He couldn't remember the next line until he was actually at the asylum, the story pushed away by thoughts of what to expect.  
  
The next line came crashing back as he entered the building.  
  
'You must be,' said the Bat, 'or you wouldn't have come here.'  
  
Cat. The Cat, damn it. The Cheshire Cat.  
  
But he didn't see a cat when he looked down at his shadow, spilling onto the floor by way of Arkham's harsh but dim light.  
  
He was Batman, the one in Gotham who chased away 'the ugly dreams that frightened you when all was dark'. . .  
  
By becoming them.  
  
***  
  
Back at the Manor, Alfred replaced the book on the bookshelf, wondering if his longtime charge had gotten the point.  
  
***  
  
Joker waited until he heard the sound of the large door close at the front of the building before doing anything. It meant that Batman was inside.. and he could begin a little mayhem. His lithe frame leaned heavily on a wall down in one of the hallways.. he was simply laying in wait, now.   
  
Batman stalked down the hallways of the dreary asylum, every sense tuned for anything that was the least bit out of place. The walls in Arkham seemed to whisper to him as he progressed.  
  
But of course they didn't. That was crazy.  
  
A drip of water here. A scurrying of vermin there. Those were real sounds.  
  
And there was the sound of someone breathing, fairly heavily at that. Was it him, or someone else.  
  
He pressed against one of the damp, slightly slimy walls and held his breath, waiting to see if the sound would continue.  
  
The whispers continued. Louder now. Perhaps they were real.  
  
Curiouser and curiouser.  
  
The Prince's eyes were dark, filled with hellish intent. He could hear faint footsteps approaching.. but couldn't see a form just yet. A small war went on in his mind.. *Call out and taunt him.. see where he is.. No! No! Run.. run far away and hide someplace!* He could already feel the impending bruises where surely his nemisis would hit him...  
  
But it was exciting, and the Joker couldn't deny it.   
  
He waited a short while longer, itching to move, to speak.. to do anything. But when he could see a faint movement in the darkness, a grin spread over his face, infecting his body with giggles. "YOOHOO! Batsy!" he called, leaning forward at the waist while holding his hands to his mouth.   
  
Like lightning, Batman lashed out and seized the Joker by the throat, tearing him from his hiding place and slamming him against the wall with such force that he felt a mist of water fly back.  
  
A cracking. Brick or bone. Hard to tell.  
  
Labored breathing. Two sources. Small choked sounds.  
  
Rats scattering.  
  
A bird somewhere taking flight.  
  
"Joker," Batman growled.  
  
The white-faced clown gasped and choked in Batman's grip. He had definitely under-estimated him this time. He hadn't even been able to push the switch - the one he'd been hiding behind his body. The inmates were still all safely locked away.. and he was all but defenseless at the moment. "Hello, B-batsy," he coughed out, a trickle of blood running down his chin. *Dammit! NOW what?!*  
  
Batman tilted his head to the side ever so slightly, the rubbery material coating the kevlar of his cowl creaking.  
  
Any second, all hell would break loose. He just had to wait for it. Some trap would spring or someone would rush him.  
  
So he waited, staring at the Joker, trying to search for clues as to which madman he was dealing with today. There was something in the way that those maddened eyes looked back that revolted him to the core. He was losing this battle of wills.  
  
Unacceptable. The Joker was insane. He could overcome his tricks and games. This should not be this hard. It was fighting the urge to lash out that made things difficult. When you were dealing with someone as off-balance as the Joker, madness felt contagious.  
  
So why did it feel like something was stirring inside of him, causing his skin to crawl, instead of the other way around?  
  
It was the building. Had to be.  
  
The seconds ticked by, and nothing happened. This wasn't right. Or was this a new tactic the Joker was using to drive him crazy?  
  
"You're wasting my time." He said menacingly.  
  
"Or are you.." Joker coughed, "wasting mine?" He grinned and let out a short string of laughter, unable to contain his amusement. "And anyway, Batsy.. you rushed me too quickly.. Nothing's going to come at you from behind, drop on you from above.. or whatever else your strange little mind is imagining." He sighed and squirmed a little, unsure of what to do with his hands, exactly.. Well.. there WAS that gun in his belt. He could reach for that. But instead, he went on talking.. "Do you feel at home, yet? Is this place all you'd remembered it to be?" His brow lowered over his eyes, giving himself a devilish expression.  
  
"YOU got ME out here!" Batman said, his irritation getting the better of him. "Arkham has NEVER felt like home, no matter how many times you push that on me!"  
  
"You sure do like saying that, don't y-" The Joker was cut off by the sudden intensity of Batman's hand on his throat.  
  
All Batman would have to do is squeeze. Just snap his pencil neck, and put them both out of a great deal of misery. . .  
  
No! What was he thinking? He wasn't thinking. He was leaning even harder on the Joker, risking crushing his windpipe, and leaving his hands free.  
  
That green-haired psycho ALWAYS had a gun. Think, damn it! Don't let him get to you!  
  
With his free hand, he started searching the Joker's body for a gun, sliding his hands under the purple jacket, along the Joker's belt.  
  
"Mmm, Batsy.. I didn't know you were into S&M," the clown taunted, letting out choked giggles between his words. He reached out and grabbed Batman's arm - the one searching him - and then used his right to grab for the gun.  
  
Batman let go of Joker's throat and grabbed at the hand reaching for the gun.  
  
*Damn it! Stupid! Careless!* His subconscious screamed as he grabbed the boney, pale wrist and slammed it against the wall, trying to get him to drop the gun as he kept Joker pinned with his body.  
  
Joker growled and tried turning the gun around, fighting against Batman's strength even as his mind knew it was over already. Who was he kidding? Angrily, he dropped the gun, figuring it wasn't worth the strain of a broken wrist. "There you go, again.. taking all the fun outta my life!"   
  
A flash of embarrassment suddenly came and went over the Joker's expresson.. Quite against his will - or was it? - a shiver raced down through his gut in response to the heavily-muscled body pressing against his. He prayed to anything higher on the food chain that Batman wouldn't notice..   
  
In order to distract from his thoughts, he said, in a sing-song voice, "Oh, dear! I seem to have lost my gun! Could you get it for   
me?"  
  
Batman kicked the gun away. "You didn't lose it. I found it. When someone carries a gun that big, I notice." He said, getting tired of the routine they dropped into every time they faced off. "You constantly making the same mistakes just makes my job easier."  
  
He had heard the flapping of wings again as the gun hit the ground, and for a moment, could have sworn the Joker shook a little. Was he afraid?  
  
No, he was too crazy to be afraid. What then? It almost felt like. . .  
  
He pushed the thought away. No way in hell. That was just. . .  
  
Sick. A subtle psyche job. Well, it wasn't going to work.  
  
"So are you going to tell me what's going on?" He said. "Or am I going to have to break your trigger finger?"  
  
"You're going to have to break my trigger finger," Joker said lowly, masking his feelings with a look of pure evil. He squirmed a little against Batman, wishing the guy would loosen up just a bit.. let him breathe or something.. The air in the room was getting thick.. things weren't going as planned.. or at all, it seemed. Or... were they just taking a strange course tonight?   
  
"Well, anyway.. as I was saying before," he began, clearing his throat of that bloody taste. "I wanted to let you know you're still   
welcome here. And.. we were going to have a little bash for you! A welcome home kinda thing.. but.. you spoiled that fun, didn't you?" He frowned like he didn't really care, and dared to shrug.  
  
"I have a habit of doing that." Batman deadpanned. The feeling of the Joker wriggling against him was making him feel increasingly more ill, as if the madman's unchecked depravity was somehow rubbing off from physical contact.  
  
He backed away a little, trying to stop himself from swallowing hard.  
  
"Who's 'we'?" He asked.  
  
"Oh, silly Batsy! You know what I mean!" Joker grinned and leaned his head forward, raising his eyebrows. "We! The inmates of Arkham! Who else would throw such a thing for YOU?" He wiggled his shoulders up and down, physically demonstrating his glee.   
  
"You shouldn't have." Batman grumbled flatly. "Fine. You can make introductions."  
  
He yanked Joker away from the wall and roughly shoved the willowy green-haired man in front of him. If anything was going to jump out at them, they were going to hit Joker first.  
  
"Move." He said, pushing the Joker forward so hard he heard his spine pop in a few places.  
  
"Ow," Joker muttered, rubbing his wrist where Batman had clenched it. He haunched over a little, recovering from the Bat's shove. "Why such the sour face, Bats? Don't you like me anymore?" He fake-pouted, batting his eyes a few times in the hero's direction. "You aren't going to lock me up again, are you? That's so... droll."  
  
"You're sick." Batman snapped, flicking his elbow up to catch Joker in the jaw. "Isn't droll your MO?"  
  
"Augh! Geez!" Joker exclaimed, falling over backwards in response to Batman's out-lash. He rubbed his chin with one hand, glancing around for any sort of weapon he could use.. being on the bottom of the food chain was embarrassing.. and downright crummy. "What's the matter with you tonight? Get your wings clipped?"  
  
Batman caught Joker before he hit the ground and pulled him up by the front of his shirt. The sound of tearing fabric echoed through the dark halls.  
  
"Most people aren't in the best of moods when they have to come to Arkham Asylum." He said, pulling Joker up so he was face-to-face with him. "And I'm still a bit annoyed that the police seem incapable of keeping you in custody. I'm getting tired of baby-sitting your every tantrum."  
  
"And I'm tired of dealing with YOUR tantrums," Joker spat, trying his best to stay eye-level with the taller man. "You get so full of rage and then spoil my fun.. it's kind of pathetic." He shrugged and then tried to brush Batman's hands away. "Let me down. I have business to attend to."   
  
"When you're back in your cell, you can attend to any business you want." Batman said, reaching for a pair of batcuffs. He didn't like the sound of this 'business'.  
  
"Getting a sense of Deja Vu?" He asked as he snapped them on the Joker's wrist and set him down on the ground. "Thank god you're dressed this time."  
  
A sly grin crept over Joker's face as he contemplated the ease in which he could respond to a statement like that. In a sultry voice, he shot back, "Too bad it's not the other way around, huh? Or.. wait! That's right, you like playing the dominant part... so maybe you should help me out of these awful clothes." He broke into another fit of laughter, kicking his feet up into the air and   
rolling onto his back.   
  
Batman grabbed the Joker and slammed him shoulder first into one of the walls.  
  
"SHUT UP!" He bellowed, feeling somehow violated. "Filthy, disgusting. . ."  
  
*Don't let him get to you. That's his game,* He told himself, shutting off his tirade.  
  
"If this is how you want me," Joker responded, using the same voice on Batman as he did on Harle - when he wanted something of her. "But uhh.. maybe we can take this someplace more... comfortable?" He winced and let out a sharp cry of pain as Batman pressed him into the wall.  
  
The sane part of Batman's mind responded to that almost childlike cry and eased off. *Just get this lunatic back in his cell and leave.* He told himself, fighting down the urge to torch the whole building with the Joker locked inside it. He was starting to feel dizzy and nauseous. Not good.  
  
"Let's go. You're boring me." He said as he started to drag the Joker toward the part of the Asylum where he was normally housed.  
  
"No, not there, Batsy! Please?!" Joker tugged against Batman's cuffs, sticking his legs out in front of him to try to slow their   
progress down to a minimum. "Let me try again! Let me go and I'll go plot something different! This wasn't fair! I didn't even get to kill anybody!" Maybe crying would work again.. It sure made the Bat back off just now. He sniffled a little and conjured up a few tears, trying his best to look pathetic.   
  
"I don't think so." Batman said stoically, throwing the Joker over his shoulder and continuing toward the cells. "No killing."  
  
"Alright, then, fine! I won't kill anybody! Just let me down, please!" Joker was quickly growing frustrated. Sure, it was nice having the rodent's complete and total attention... but this was too much. Angrily, he beat on his captor's back, balling his thin fists up and doing his damndest to get free. "Come on! You're not playing fair!"  
  
Batman knew he shouldn't believe a word the lying psychopath said, but he was curious as to what was going on. It wasn't like the Joker to have a plan as weak as this one was.  
  
He set the Joker down and shoved him away.  
  
"Like you ever play fair." He said, prepared to tackle the Joker if he made any sudden moves.  
  
Joker cleared his throat, leaned on one leg and blatantly ignored Batman for a few minutes. He moved his wrists around in the   
handcuffs and wished he could take them off, but then let his hands fall down in front of him. He met Batman's eyes, lifted one brow... and then bolted, racing deeper into the Asylum halls...  
  
"Damn." Batman hissed. He should have known better. He HAD known better. He needed to stop reacting to being inside Arkham.  
  
Racing after the Joker, he grabbed a batarang from his belt and threw it at the Joker's fleeing form, hoping to trip him.  
  
Joker suddenly tumbled and fell, getting the batarang right in the ankles. He let out a surprised yelp and rolled a few feet - just   
enough distance to reach the basement stairs... which he promptly began falling down.   
  
Batman stopped at the top of the stairs. They were hard, narrow, numerous, and the railing was broken halfway down.  
  
Shaking his head with frustration, he fired a grappling hook into the ceiling, tested his weight on it, and swung out to snatch the Joker from the jaws of stair-induced death.  
  
He couldn't let him die. That was what separated him from that Madman. He didn't kill and he didn't let people die. . . not anymore.  
  
He grabbed the Joker around the waist and held on to him as he swung toward the second landing.  
  
Joker clung to Batman with balled fists until they reached the landing. Heart pounding and his eyes wild, he fell backward onto the metal floor and panted for a few moments. "You have a tendency to shove me down stairs, don't you?" He hopped up to his feet and took a few steps forward, brushing himself off and composing his expression.. "But then, you always come and swoop down out of the sky.. at the last moment.." He batted his eyes and folded his hands, leaning onto the Dark Knight's shoulder. "My hero!" he exclaimed, forcing his voice up a few decibels.  
  
"I didn't shove you down the stairs." Batman protested, not knowing how to react to the Joker touching him. Part of him felt sorry for him. Part of him was angry that someone would think he tried to kill them. Part of him remembered that this was the JOKER. "I wouldn't do that. And it was hardly the last moment."  
  
He took a step back, not liking the situation one bit.  
  
"Oh, but of course it was!" Joker responded gaily, rushing to fill the step Batman had taken backward. He latched onto the larger man's muscled arm, pulled himself in and leaning his cheek on his shoulder. "I almost died! I could've ended up as short as ol' Pengy! But YOU rescued me.. you must love it when I break out of Arkham.. it means you get to save me from certain death!" His face turned devious, though, and he considered the weapons on Batman's belt..   
  
Oh, the options at hand...  
  
Batman grimaced and tried to peel the Joker off. It took him a few moments to catch the look on his face.  
  
With all his strength, he shoved the Joker away.  
  
"Then why don't you just try to kill yourself instead of everyone else?" He growled.  
  
"Oh, because nothing is more interesting than killing people.. in the most hilarious of ways." Joker brushed himself off and smoothed back his green curls, acting as though nothing had happened just now. "And anyway, I should be going. I have work to do." He headed for the door, knowing full-well that Batman would stop him. And was planning on it.   
  
Batman stepped in front of him, blocking the doorway.  
  
"I don't particularly want to hurt you anymore." He said. "But the only place you're going is back to your cell."  
  
"Are you coming with me?" Joker asked, tilting his head to the side. "Because unless you are - which I doubt - then neither am I." He folded his arms over his chest, mocking one of Batman's famous poses.   
  
"Fine." Batman said. "We'll play this your way."  
  
He grabbed Joker again, scooping him up in a somewhat fetal position and carrying him to his cell, punching the button that engaged the electric locks and slipping in before the door closed, locking them both inside.  
  
"Happy now?" He asked. At least this way, this only person the Joker could hurt was him.  
  
Joker squirmed around and kicked at the air, demanding to be released. As soon as Batman stopped moving, he managed to get out of his captor's arms.. and to land rather gracelessly on the floor. He shot up to his feet and looked around the small, padded cell. "What in the world has come over you, Bats?!" The space was all of ten feet by ten at the most.. and rather dark. He leaned against one of the padded walls and sighed. Nonchalantly, he remarked, "At least you're where you belong, now."  
  
"Funny, I was just thinking the same thing about you." Batman grumbled, leaning against the opposite wall and staring at the Joker. "Nothing's come over me. I wanted to get you somewhere where you couldn't hurt any innocent people."  
  
"Well," Joker started, pushing away from the wall and taking a few steps forward. He rested one hand on his hip, and then made a point with the other, aiming it at the Dark Knight. "That means you aren't innocent, then. Because.. technically, I can still hurt you." He giggled softly and then settled his other hand on his hip as well.  
  
Batman stared at him, saying nothing. He wasn't being told anything he didn't know. His presence in the room seemed to make the small space even darker than normal.  
  
"You're so depressing," Joker hissed, his brow lowering. He folded his arms... dared to move closer to Batman, and then leaned on the wall nearby. He imitated his nemisis, sticking his chin out and moping about as darkly as he could manage. "I have a stick up my ass," he giggled, breaking the silence.  
  
Batman slowly turned to look at him. "Are you complaining or bragging?" He asked.  
  
"Oh, bragging of course," Joker responded, turning to stare right back. "Any Bat should be pleased to have a shard of lumber up his ass." A strange and very excited look crossed the clown's eyes.. as his left arm suddenly started reaching for a dangerous and yet well-rounded area on Batman's body. "Let's see just how deep this thing goes!"   
  
Batman lashed out like a statue coming to life, and his foot kicked out at the Joker's midsection. Hard.  
  
"Do NOT touch me!" He ranted. "Or there will be more than lumber displacing your internal organs! Is that UNDERSTOOD!?"  
  
"Ooooh," Joker cooed, leaning over the floor, hardly able to stand the pain. "What's wrong, sweetheart? Did I remind you of Robin?" He choked and coughed, blood splattering on the floor. "You're so angry with me.. I can FEEL it!" He rolled over onto his back and muttered, "And oh how pretty you get when you're angry!"  
  
Batman leaned against the wall, on the verge of panic. This was bad. This was very bad. He was stuck in this cell with the Joker at least until morning, and he was already on the verge of killing his nemesis.  
  
The mention of Robin had enraged him. The Joker DID remind him of Robin, but not in the way he thought. Every time Batman looked at that pasty face, he was reminded of Jason Todd's death.  
  
The Joker had done the bludgeoning, but it had been Batman's fault.  
  
He was trying to keep his rage in check. If he hit the Joker any harder than he had, he might have killed him. As it was, he may have sustained severe internal injuries. He was losing this fight. He was playing this game by the Joker's rules, and there was no way he could win that way.   
  
The Joker was crazy. He wasn't crazy. He was in control. He had to believe that.  
  
*No more violence!* He told himself. He was reacting out of fear. Batman wasn't supposed to be afraid of anything. It was the other part of him, the part that was still a frightened six year-old, that was terrified.  
  
*Come on Bruce, get it together.* He told himself. *Think. Act. Don't react. Start getting the Joker to answer some questions. Hurt him in another way.* Physical punishment just couldn't incapacitate someone that out of his mind. In fact, he seemed to ENJOY the pain.  
  
Sick. Twisted. Depraved. Batman didn't want the Joker enjoying anything he caused. Time to change things.  
  
He took a breath and crouched down next to the Joker, reaching for the place on his belt where he kept the painkillers. He pulled out a syringe. Morphine. He hardly ever used the stuff, and never on himself. He kept it in case someone else needed it. This was one of those cases. He wasn't using it now because of the side effects of the Opium derivative.   
  
At least he told himself that.  
  
"Why is it that you insist on putting my relationship with Robin in that light?" He asked as he rolled up the Joker's sleeve and searched for a vein.  
  
"Oh, yes.. that's right. Robin's dead, isn't he?" Joker leaned up on his other arm and snickered. "But uhh.. didn't you get a new one? Where do you find these little buggers, anyway? At an ACO store? I should probably get one someday. They'd probably be just about ten times as useful as Harley.. and if I got sick of 'im, I could just shoot him - BANG! - in the head." He leaned his head back and grinned, half out of it from the brutal attentions he'd received.. but too far gone to care.   
  
Batman paused, fighting the urge to jab the syringe in the Joker's eye. He took a shuddering breath, then continued.  
  
"And anyway, Batsy, sweetheart, darling.. it makes perfect sense. You're obviously an older man. Not many babes go after white hair these days.. so it would be convenient if you had a stock of say.. two or three youngin's around. That would explain Robin, Nightwing - and he IS such a find young lad, isn't he! - and then Batgirl." Right about then, Batman managed to find the right vein.. "Ow!" Joker whined, looking down at the intruding needle. "Why must you insist on sticking things in my arm..? Heh.. heh.." His other arm felt weak suddenly, so he laid down on the floor. "Heh.."   
  
*The bastard had to bring up Batgirl too,* Batman thought. But he was NOT going to give the Joker the satisfaction of seeing him squirm with that one. He feigned an arrogant calm.  
  
"You're wrong about the older man thing." He said. "Unlike you, my dates don't have a voice that could peel paint. I'm surprised you haven't killed Harley yet."  
  
God, but that girl was nerve-grinding.  
  
"Well.. that may be true.. but Harley has gone through puberty by now," Joker quipped back, watching Batman warily with tired green eyes. "But unless you're offering a date, drop the act. I can see right through your little facade, DARling. You're so insecure about yourself and I can feel every bit of it." He coughed a few times and giggled in response, feeling very strange all of a sudden. "And besides.. Harley is useful on the occasion."  
  
"Do I want to ask what you mean by useful?" Batman said, trying to ignore the 'date' comment. . . but it was really bugging him.  
  
"Drop the constant suggestions that I'm a pedophile and we'll talk." He said, unable to let the whole thing just go by. "Why do you think I'm insecure?"  
  
This, he hoped, would prove to be interesting.  
  
"Well, first off... I'd like to say that useful can mean any number of different things. But, because it's you, I'll say that useful   
includes those lonely moments at night when I just can't seem to entertain myself!" He neglected to mention how she always broke him out of Arkham as well.. Maybe if Bats didn't think of that, he wouldn't go after her.   
  
Batman, for the sake of his stomach, would assume that meant they played checkers.  
  
"Why are *you* insecure?" Joker asked no one in particular. If Batman was paying attention, he'd notice the way his nemisis had rearranged the sentence. "Very simply put, you hit me every time I say anything." A small giggle ended the sentence, punctuating his words. "But besides that, there's the obvious one. This." He reached up and ran a finger over Batman's mask, bringing it down his nose.   
  
Batman yanked his head away. "You're sick." he said again. "And you're wrong. That's not insecurity. Most people are put off being in the presence of a mass murderer, never mind being touched by you."  
  
The mask crawled against his skin where the Joker had touched him, but he tried to ignore it. "You said something, I didn't hit you." He said, not wanting to think about it. "Wrong again."  
  
He got up slowly, not wanting it to seem like he was running away.  
  
Joker ignored the last part of what Batman had to say, putting his hand to his forehead. "Sick? I don't seem sick.. maybe you'd better take my temperature." He forced himself to sit up, wincing against the pain in his gut. "Now where do you think you're going? I'm not done talking to you. You may as well get comfortable because you're going to have to listen to me for the rest of the night."   
  
"You're still in pain?" Batman asked, worried that he'd done some serious damage. "That shouldn't be."  
  
He leaned over and felt the Joker's forehead, and grabbed one of his wrists.  
  
"You're going into shock." He said gravely, looking around for something to put under the Joker's knees. He yanked the mattress off the cot on the wall and tossed it onto the floor and shoving it up against the wall so it bent in an 'L.'  
  
"Can you move?" He asked the Joker. "You need to get your legs elevated."  
  
"I can move, see..?" Joker waved his hands around in front of Batman, frowning and grumbling something afterward. He coughed once and tried to lay down again, pulling away from Batman. "Goddamn Batman.. I think you've killed me." He coughed again and acted like he was angry, ignoring the part about getting his legs elevated.   
  
"If you were dead, you wouldn't be talking to me." Batman spat, picking the Joker up putting him on the mattress. He looked around the cell for something to prop his legs up. There wasn't much to be had.  
  
Resigning himself to what he was about to do, he detached his cape from his suit, rolled it up and put it under the Joker's knees.  
  
"Don't move." He cautioned, pressing his fingers into Joker's throat to check his pulse.  
  
Joker was beside himself with amusement. Batman had carried him to the bed and laid him down, acting as though he was genuinely concerned. It was unusual for the Bat to do so, but the Clown Prince was getting a kick out of it, anyway. He grinned, chuckling a little under Batman's thick fingers. He was surprised the Bat hadn't already recoiled. "Getting used to my cold skin, darling?"   
  
"Shut up." Batman said, intentionally more quietly than he had before. "I'm trying to find out if your pulse is normal. Don't talk for at least fifteen seconds."  
  
The Joker's pulse was a little faint. That wasn't good. He was feeling too guilty to even respond to that last. . . odd comment.  
  
"Why so glum, Bats?" The Joker raised his eyebrows, curiosity sparked in his green eyes. "Your mood changed just now. Don't you want to play anymore?"  
  
Batman examined the Joker's face critically. He seemed fine, but that could be the drugs.  
  
"Your pulse is faint, and a bit irregular." He said. "Lie still. Playtime's over."  
  
Joker sighed and folded his hands over his stomach, wincing slightly. "You're st... ooh..." He raised one hand to his forehead,   
suddenly looking quite unsure about himself. By now a cold sweat had formed on his body. His vision blurred.. darkened.. and then the clown went limp.   
  
"Joker?" Batman said cautiously, a feeling of dread welling up in him.  
  
"JOKER?!"  
  
Batman rushed over and rolled the Joker onto his back, checking to see if he was breathing. Not that he could tell. Damn it.  
  
"JOKER, DAMN YOU! WAKE UP!"  
  
He shook the frail-looking man by the shoulders. No response. The son of a bitch was dying on him. He couldn't let that happen.  
  
"SOMEBODY HELP!"  
  
His voice echoed fruitlessly through the cell and down the halls. No one responded to anything but an alarm at Arkham at this time of night, and the building had been evacuated when the Joker first pulled this prank of his.  
  
Whether he lived or died was in Batman's hands now. The Dark Knight's choice was clear.  
  
He loosened the Joker's tie, undid his shirt, tilted his head back and started CPR.  
  
*** 


	2. White Roses

Chapter 2 - White Roses  
  
A few minutes later.........  
  
Joker gasped and coughed into Batman's face, his eyes opening up all of a sudden. *Batman..?* He was confused and feeling disoriented, too weak to remember what happened. But when he felt a large hand on his chest, and looked down to see it, a giggle erupted from his mouth. "Oh, sweetheart.. shouldn't I be awake if you're going to make out with me?"  
  
Batman fought the urge to give the Joker another knock.  
  
"I liked you better when you weren't breathing." He lied, pushing away from the Joker and resisting the urge to spit as he wiped his mouth. This was turning in to one hell of a night.  
  
"So cruel," Joker muttered, trying to sit up but feeling quite unable to. He licked his lips and smiled. "Mmmm.. toothpaste..   
definitely a good thing you keep up with your dental hygiene, Bats. I might've been all grossed out, otherwise."   
  
Batman looked over at him incredulously.  
  
"It isn't an act with you, is it?" He asked, almost curiously. Revolted, but curious.  
  
"What isn't an act?" Joker asked, peering over toward the dark figure. "I only said that you taste good." He smirked and reached   
down to straighten out his jacket..  
  
"The fact that you'd even notice that after being unconcious." Batman replied, taking another step back to keep the distance   
between them. "You were fairly close to dying. . . but you seem surprisingly fine now. Mind over matter, perhaps?"  
  
"Perhaps.." Joker shrugged while laying down, finding it almost comfortable, anyway. He glanced over at Batman, laughing   
inwardly. "Why do you ask? Would it make you uncomfortable if I were to say I faked it?"  
  
"I'd like to know how you go about faking an irregular heartbeat and lack of any respiratory pattern." Batman said, trying not to read too much in to the 'faking' comment. . . and not show that his hands were shaking.  
  
"Well.." Joker trailed off, unable to answer that question. "I woke up a few seconds before I actually opened my eyes.. and then did the whole gasping stuff.." He sighed and picked at his nails, trying to irratate the Bat more than anything.  
  
*Wonderful,* Batman thought, but he said nothing. He stared at the Joker silently, not moving, hoping to intimidate even a little bit.  
  
"Aren't you going to say something?" Joker turned his head to look at the Bat, wishing he was more active.. this was going to be a LONG night, otherwise. "Here, let me initiate the conversation again.. What kind of toothpaste do you use?"  
  
Batman continued to stare, his expression hardening and becoming harder to read.  
  
"Does Robin use the same type?" Joker pressed, leaning on his hands as he forced his body upright. "Minty fresh? I should see sometime.."  
  
Batman felt a knot cramp up in his stomach, and a muscle in his jaw twitched, but still he said nothing.  
  
"And how about that aftershave? Probably something like 'Stormy Rain,' right? Something to match your personality..?" He grinned deviously, knowing perfectly well he was getting to Batman..  
  
Batman lunged toward Joker as if to hit him, hoping to scare him. . . Or shut him up for two seconds.  
  
Joker raised his hands up to cover his face, crying out in surprise. His body made a 'thump' sound as it hit the wall.. he had tried to back away. "Dammit, BATS!" he screeched, realizing that it had only been a sort of warning. "Here we were, having a perfectly good conversation! And what do you do?!"   
  
"Funny, you were the only one I heard talking." Batman said darkly, stepping away again.  
  
Joker shot forward.. onto his knees.. and then up to his feet, wincing in pain but coping with it. He wavered and reached out for the wall, not having expected to be so dizzy. "That.. morphine.. you gave me.." He grumbled a little and closed his eyes.   
  
*Not again.* Batman thought. He leaned forward cautiously to check on Joker, shaking him gently by the shoulder.  
  
"What do you want?" Joker hissed, looking up at him from the tops of his eyes. "..Gonna take another swing at me?" He stumbled all of a sudden, moving backward a few feet.. and then tripped over the mattress, ending up back on the floor - where he'd started.   
  
Batman rolled his eyes and pulled Joker back onto the makeshift bed he'd made on the floor. "How many times do I have to tell you not to move?" He asked. "Just because you're not feeling any pain doesn't mean you're not badly injured."  
  
"Are you going to hold me down, then?" Joker asked, looking up at Batman. He broke into a miniature fit of giggles, not able to help himself, really.   
  
"No." Batman said. "I have a better idea."  
  
He moved Joker off the mattress, threw it back on the cot, lifted Joker on to it, then went for something on his belt.  
  
"What are you doing?" Joker asked curiously, unsure of whether or not he liked this idea.   
  
Batman just gave him a nasty smirk and pulled out a length of rope usually used with his grappling hooks. He started tying Joker down. He knew the green-haired freak would say something, but it might be worth it.  
  
"Hey!" The Joker protested, immediately moving to sit up... he held his left arm away from Batman, not willing to let him do this. "You can't just tie me down, you loon!"  
  
Batman looked at him and grabbed his right arm. "This can be easy or this can be hard." He said. "Your choice."  
  
The Joker kept his left arm away from Batman, wanting to test him.. to see if he'd really go so far as to hurt him again. "Hard."  
  
Batman paused and let his head drop a little, realizing what he'd walked into. After a *you idiot* moment, he went back to tying up Joker's right wrist.  
  
Joker watched Batman tie up his hand, wondering why he was being so quiet again. "You umm.. heh.." he coughed once, "like this whole bondage stuff, don't you?"  
  
"Better than having to hold you down myself." Batman deadpanned, reaching for Joker's other wrist.  
  
Joker resisted, holding it away and then behind his back so that Batman would have to reach around his torso.. "What's the matter? Can't quite get me to cooperate?" He snickered.  
  
Batman tilted his head in a manner that was almost beckoning. "What's the matter Joker?" He asked. "Five minutes ago, you couldn't keep your hands off me." He reached over him to try to grab his arm.  
  
"And NOW - YOU can't keep YOUR hands off of ME!" Joker giggled and leaned forward toward Batman's form, forgetting for the moment that he was supposed to be an enemy. He went in real close, grinned.. and then presented his arm for Batman. "Do with me what you will. You'd win eventually, anyway."  
  
*Thank god,* Batman thought, finally seizing the Joker's wrist and lashing it to the metal cot.  
  
Joker, now tied down at the wrists, had to actually lay down to avoid discomfort. "Now what?" he asked in a deep voice, purposefully giving Batman a strange look.   
  
Batman shrugged, leaned against the wall casually and folded his arms across his chest, smirking.  
  
"Now what are you smirking at?" Joker was full of questions tonight. He shifted in the bed, a little chilly because of his shirt being open.   
  
Batman's smirk widened.  
  
"WHAT?!" Joker demanded. "Dammit, tell me! Am I growing a third arm?!"  
  
"You're just too cute." Batman mocked. He was in the mood for torturing Joker a little...  
  
Joker blinked. He paused in the midst of whining some more... and narrowed his green eyes, staring Batman down. "Excuse me?"  
  
Batman stifled a laugh. Ah, the joys of sleep deprivation. He told himself this wasn't supposed to be fun. "I think you heard me." He said.  
  
A shiver raced down Joker's spine in response to Batman's simple statement. "I'm hoping I did.. because otherwise you really DID hit me hard." He squirmed a little against the rope, feeling awkward at the moment. He wasn't quite so sure of what to say in response, but blurted out, "It's about time someone other than Harley told me that."  
  
Batman blinked behind the eye-slits in his cowl. "You've got to be kidding me." He blurted out. He couldn't believe that the Joker was taking things this direction.  
  
"What? Kidding you how?" Joker was confused.. One minute Batman was blatantly hating him, then next he was telling him he was cute..   
  
Batman shook his head. In his surprise, he'd almost blown an opportunity to get inside the Joker's head. "Never mind." He   
said. "Keep talking."  
  
"About what?" Joker asked timidly. Batman was starting to worry him. He wasn't being himself.   
  
"About someone other than Harley telling you that." Batman prompted.  
  
"I.. was just saying that it isn't every night someone tells me I'm attractive," Joker said cautiously, eyeing the Bat. "And it's   
especially strange hearing it.. from.. you.." He tried to shrug, but the rope made it difficult. "It's just.. I....." He was getting a   
little lost, unsure of what he was saying. Was Batman doing this on purpose?  
  
"You what?" Batman prompted again, as pleasantly as possible. . . which still wasn't all that pleasant.  
  
"Nevermind. It isn't important. I want to know why you called me cute." Joker put on his 'stern' look, pretending he was just as   
tough as Batman.  
  
*Damn,* Batman thought, hiding his disappointment behind a stone-faced exterior. His mind raced as to how to respond. This wasn't exactly the first time he manipulated someone this way, but they were usually female, and he usually wasn't wearing a mask. Still, the same script applied. "No, it is important," he said, more welcomingly this time. "Tell me, please?"   
  
*Note to self: scrub with a wire brush when you get home tonight,* the Dark Knight thought.  
  
Joker sighed and readjusted his position on the bed again, feeling more and more uncomfortable. "I umm.. I was just thinking how you and I made each other. At the chemical plant, you know?" He frowned. "I'm not sure what I was going to say, really.." *God, this is strange..*   
  
"You didn't make me." Batman said sharply. "Don't flatter yourself."  
  
"Oh, screw off!" Joker spat. "Of course I did. Without me to push you over the edge, you wouldn't be around! I started the insanity in this city and I'll finish it!"   
  
"You're wrong," Batman argued, trying to fight off the all too familiar flashbacks about what had really 'made' him. "I haven't   
been pushed over the edge."  
  
"Oh, yes you have!" Joker argued, pulling on the ropes. He was getting himself worked up again.. and nothing good would come of it. "Just tell me why you called me CUTE!" He reverted the conversation back to it's original context, hoping to pry into some kind of answer.   
  
"Because I feel sorry for you right now." Batman answered.   
  
Joker took in a deep breath to calm himself... let it out, and closed his eyes. "Thank you. Now.. why do you feel sorry for me?" He stared back at Batman again, his curiosity peaked.  
  
"Because of the amount of energy you spend trying to get my attention," the Batman replied.  
  
"How is that such a bad thing?" Joker asked. "I do that because I love playing with you. Gotham is a playground.. and you're my play-buddy. And eventually I'll lead you down the wrong path into a darker section.. and you'll understand what it is to be mad. You're the best friend I have.. and it's because I want so much to show you... show you my view of the world."  
  
"Those are real people's lives you're playing with." Batman spat, the anger returning to his voice. "I don't have any interest in   
your view of the world, whatever you consider me." The Joker considered him his best friend? Something inside of him, the monster that was the Bat, was reacting strongly to that. A pain in his stomach almost caused him to double over as his two halfs warred for supremacy. It would be so easy to go down that path. So easy. Which was precisely why he couldn't do it. "Where. . ." His voice failed and he cleared his throat. "Where does Harley fit with you if I'm your best friend?"  
  
"Harley is.. she's.. she's Harley! She's my henchwench! She does what I tell her and fills the lonliness that burns away my livelihood! I sit in my stinking run-down hide-out and plot ways to bring you back into my life! I think up things to get you angry at me.. angry enough to come after me! To give chase! It's all one big game! And you just don't realize that we've both lost several pieces somewhere.. and someday, one of us will win... It might be me.. it might be you.. but.. but wouldn't it be nice if we could," Joker choked a little, coughing through his anger, "be.. be happy?!"   
  
"Stop gassing teenagers in nightclubs and I'll be very happy." Batman growled, starting to pace the cell like a caged animal. After all, that was what he was, wasn't he? "Stop taking over asylums and kidnapping and killing children and I'll be thrilled!" His cape swirled in the air as he turned sharply to face the other man. "Don't you get it?!" He raged. "Some people have responsibilities that supercede happiness! I'm one of those people! I have to do this! I HAVE to come after you, because if I don't, who will?! Who's going to stop you?! It'll never be enough Joker! All the violence and death and destruction, it's never going to fill that space inside you! You won't be able to shut off the part of you that actually feels by commiting increasingly horrible attrocities! You're going to keep hurting, and there's nothing you can do, no pain that you can inflict on someone else that will change that! You. . ." He forced himself to stop, aware that he was losing control again.  
  
"Don't you think I know that?! It isn't the crimes themselves that make me feel good! No! It's that moment on a rooftop when you're staring me down.. that moment when I'm handcuffed and bleeding at your feet.. the moment you bring my plots crashing down around me - like my sanity once did - that I FEEL! Those are the moments I wait every night for! And when you lock me up in Arkham, I have to escape because I have to feel that way! It's an addiction, but it's the only thing I have!" He glared at Batman, his chest heaving with the effort of keeping him going. "I lost everything when crime stepped into my life! And so, following in the words of the wise: If you can't beat 'em, join 'em!" His last words were hissed through clenched teeth, finalizing his rant and giving Batman his oppurtunity to respond.   
  
Respond was exactly what Batman didn't know how to do. The Joker's admission was sick, masochistic and. . . tragic. He'd never perceived the Joker as a victim before.  
  
*This could be a trick,* He thought. But something told him it wasn't. There was a ring of truth to the Joker's ranting. Guilt and   
responsibility washed over him, as well as a feeling of helplessness. The Joker had nothing to lose. He'd just keep at it until one or both of them were dead.  
  
*And if I killed him,* Batman thought, *It would be the ultimate victory for him. I can't stop this and I can't look away. I can't win this fight. I can't beat him.*  
  
*Well, if you can't beat 'em. . .*  
  
No. That wasn't an option.  
  
He shook off the thoughts. No matter what, he was going to have to keep the Joker calm, or he was going to cause himself further injury thrashing around like that. With a gentleness that surprised even himself, he laid a hand on the Joker's shoulder.  
  
"Shhh." He hushed. "You HAVE to stop doing that. You keep it up and you'll aggravate your injuries to the point that they become fatal. . ."  
  
He choked on his next words, but if he was going to communicate with the Joker, he was going to have to speak his language. After a pause, he spoke.  
  
"And killing yourself isn't part of the game, right?"  
  
"Hmph," Joker answered, feeling himself calm down despite his resolve to get as much into Batman's mind as possible. He glanced at the hand on his shoulder and wondered about the sudden calm in his arch nemisis' voice. "I.. guess not."   
  
Batman nodded slowly and felt the Joker's forehead again."You're cold." He said flatly. He retrieved his cape from the ground and covered the Joker with it. Doing something helped occupy his mind.  
  
"Aww.. how thoughtful," Joker said softly, not trying to malicious so much as not being able to resist commenting. Noting the look on Batman's face, he asked, "What are you thinking about?"  
  
"Nothing that concerns you." Batman said cryptically.  
  
"Of course it does, sweetheart. You're thinking about something I said.. or maybe something you have yet to say..?" He lifted one eyebrow and crossed his legs under the cape.  
  
"I'm thinking about everything you said." Batman answered. "Trying to determine whether I believe any of it."  
  
"And why would you have reason not to trust ME?" he asked, giggling through it. "...I wasn't lying. I have no reason to."   
  
"You have no reason to tell the truth either." Batman pointed out.  
  
"True... true.." Joker nodded a few times and then shrugged. "So tell me what it is EXACTLY that you're thinking.."   
  
"That comment about crime affecting your life." Batman said slowly, thoughtfully. "What exactly were you referring to?"  
  
"Red Hood," Joker stated simply. "Don't tell me you don't remember.. I'd be a little disappointed, Batsy.."  
  
"Oh." Batman said, disappointed. "I thought you might have meant something else. You were a criminal before you were. . . what you are now. You can't expect me to feel bad that it didn't pay off for you."  
  
"I don't want you to feel sorry for me. I'm enjoying my life," Joker said with a long sigh. "And yes, I was a criminal before-hand. Not that you should care. It doesn't affect you. Nothing before my rebirth matters. As far as you know, I've forgotten it."  
  
"But you haven't forgotten." Batman observed. "And that statement contradicts what you said earlier, about really feeling."  
  
"I'm a notorious liar," Joker spat, turning to look at Batman. "Alright, I'll admit I lied. I'm not enjoying a second of my   
life. You know the rest of that.." He closed his eyes for a moment. "What makes you think I haven't forgotten?"  
  
"Because you brought it up." Batman said, going back to lean against the wall. "And you'd be disappointed if I forgot."  
  
"You can't forget something you never knew," Joker pointed out, opening his eyes to watch Gotham's hero. "You didn't know me before our rendevous at the chemical plant. You don't even know my real name. But.. this subject is boring me. Why don't we talk about YOU? Before YOU first put on the mask.. hmm? What do you do when you aren't busy breaking my bones?"  
  
"I break Two Face's bones. Or The Penguin's, or the Riddler's." Batman deadpanned. "My calendar is quite full." The Joker had to be crazy if he thought that he'd tell him anything about that subject. . . but he was crazy, wasn't he?  
  
"Well, what about during the day? You know, when you're lonely... do you have a wench to go home to?" Joker giggled a little and rolled his head to the side, looking at the wall instead of his 'friend.'  
  
"No." Batman said darkly, making it very clear that this line was questioning was over.  
  
Joker turned to look back at Batman, his interest soaring. "Why not? No one will have your great sense of humor and dashing looks?"  
  
"They don't like the people I hang around with at night." Batman said, staring at the Joker with frightening intensity.  
  
"Too bad," Joker responded casually. "Hey, maybe you should take me home with you some night. I'm sure I'd get along with your night crowd."  
  
"You ARE my night crowd." Batman snapped, rapidly losing his sense of humor. He wished he had some concept of how much time had passed, but there were no windows, and no clocks to be seen. "This place is useless." He grumbled.  
  
"Yes, it is.. because I continuously get to spend time with you, darling." Joker made a kissy-face and chuckled to himself, making the cape rise and fall over him a few times. "And I must say.. you look better without your wings. Shows off your big, strong muscles." He laughed again, more full-hearted this time, filling the room with his voice.  
  
Batman stared at him for a long time, willing himself not to lash out. No more violence. "Why do you do that?" He finally said. "We both know you'd like nothing better to see me drawn and quartered. Why cook up the whole psuedo-romantic fairy tale?"  
  
"I don't want you dead, Batsy," Joker cooed, ending his laughter slowly. "Who says it's a fairy tale? And besides, if it is.. than   
it's a damned good one. You - the hero - saved my life. How romantic!"  
  
"I'm not a hero." Batman protested.  
  
"Oh, phooey! Of course you are! You save Gotham over and over from the Grand Mogul of Monte-Banks! Don't give me that modest bat guano." Joker paused afterward, wanting to see Batman's reaction.  
  
"I wouldn't expect you to understand." Batman said, turning to face the wall. "That's what makes us different. You think in terms of heroes and villains. I think in terms of right and wrong. Too often I do the wrong things for the right reasons. That doesn't make me a hero."  
  
"What SORTS of things..?" Joker asked, watching Batman with intense curiosity. "How can Batman do wrong?"  
  
Batman's head turned mechanically to face him. "You almost died tonight. How is that right?"  
  
"Am I to understand that you're sorry for hitting me?" Joker prodded, his interest shifting. "Could it be that ol' Bats has a few   
feelings lodged in his heart afterall?"  
  
"I'm always sorry when things turn to violence." Batman said in a gravelly tone. "Sometimes it's the only type of communication psychopaths like you understand. Sometimes. . . it's just a mistake. Anyone with a conscience would feel sorry."  
  
"Oh.. well, then.. it's a pity I don't feel sorry." Joker shut up after that, realizing he'd opened up a new can of worms.. Quickly   
trying to shovel that aside, he asked, "So then.. kicking me in the gut was a mistake? You would rather I'd managed to touch you?"  
  
Batman sighed. "No. I'd rather have stopped you from touching me in a different way. I definitely did NOT want you touching me." He shuddered inwardly at the thought. . . it felt forced somehow though, like he was required to have that reaction. He was getting tired.  
  
"Funny that you added that on... that you felt it necessary to tell me you absolutely didn't want me touching you. Makes me think that perhaps.... you did. Or that.. you aren't really as repulsed as you're leading on..."  
  
"Just making sure there's no room for misinterpretation." Batman said, turning away from the wall again. "I'm not repulsed. I don't want to encourage these disturbed fantasies you have about me."  
  
"Fantasies!" Joker exclaimed, shaking his head with glee. "Boy, you sure are the story-teller over there, aren't you? I'd like to ask,   
then.. why you locked yourself in my cell with me? It wasn't an accident. You did it intentionally. You could very well have left. You could have dropped me off, angry and hurt... and then left. But you stayed. If I'm the one with fantasies, then why are you still sitting here with me?"  
  
"Because I wanted to make sure that for at least one night, you stayed the hell where you belonged!" Batman responded, starting to raise his voice again. "It wasn't two days ago I thought you were back in custody, and here we are, back to the same old tired dance! If Harley tries to bust you out of here, I'll be here to stop her!"  
  
"Do you REALLY think Harley's coming to bust me out? Come on.. really." Joker stared Batman down, a very serious tone to his   
voice. "I think you have alterior motives. But if you insist on lying to me, go ahead. It isn't as though I can get up and try to intimidate it out of you... not that that seems to work ever, anyway.."  
  
"Fine!" Batman responded immediately, cutting the Joker off from saying anything further. "You want to hear me say I didn't leave you here because you had just fallen down a flight of stone stairs, and I wanted to make sure you weren't going to die, but also wanted to be sure you weren't going to run again?! There! I said it!" He reigned his temper in again. Each time was more difficult, and took longer. He could feel his jaw twitching again as he fought to calm down. "Satisfied?" He eventually demanded, his voice barely above a hoarse whisper.  
  
"Quite so," Joker answered gaily. "Now for the real interesting stuff: Why were you concerned about me being safe? I thought I   
disgusted you. Really, Bats.. you don't make too much sense if one really ponders it."  
  
"I told you, because the only thing that separates us is the fact that I won't let anyone die, because of something I did or didn't   
do. Not if I can avoid it." His speech was slow, controlled, carefully thought out. "Even you. Even though saving your life means that sometime in the future, more people might die. I'm not an executioner."  
  
"I don't understand you in this case," Joker started. "If you know I'm just going to kill again.. perhaps another child.. why should you bother caring? You should let me bleed to death, laying on the floor of my cell. Gotham would be better off, correct? So.. what are you waiting for, really? Why do you allow me the oppurtunity to claim more lives..?"  
  
"Because that's the game." Batman said, his voice laced with sarcasm.  
  
Joker stared at Batman angrily. He was a little frustrated with the short replies he was receiving. "A game I constantly win."  
  
"You set the rules. It's easy." The Dark Knight turned his back to the Joker.  
  
"Why do you do that?" Joker asked, really wishing he could sit up just about now.  
  
Batman's reply was a long time in coming, as if he wasn't really listening. "Do what?"  
  
"Turn away from me like that. It's so cold..." Joker grumbled a little, tried once more to shift, and then added, "You're supposed   
to look a person in the eye when you hold conversation. Didn't your mother ever teach you manners?"  
  
"Didn't yours?" Batman shot back through gritted teeth. "I'd say homicide is pretty bad form." *Shut up. Just shut up.* He thought.   
  
Two gun shots. His body shook as if they had hit him.   
  
They didn't. Getting shot didn't hurt this badly.  
  
Joker tilted his head to the side, catching the pained expression twisting Batman's mouth... ever.. so.. slightly. "What's the   
matter..? Did I hit a chord?"  
  
Batman didn't respond. He shrunk into the far corner of the cell, seeming to disappear into the shadows. He needed distance. Batman didn't have parents. He didn't hurt. He wasn't afraid of anything. That was Bruce Wayne, and Bruce Wayne wasn't here.   
  
Right now, Bruce Wayne didn't exist.   
  
No feeling. No fear. No tragedy.   
  
The Bat, the monster, had always existed.   
  
It wasn't a result of something that had happened when he was six. . . no, that hadn't happened. Not to him. That was someone else.   
  
"Nice try," a flat, emotionless voice said from the shadows. "Tell me about your mother, Joker. You kill her, too?"  
  
"Something's wrong.. and I'd come to comfort you.. but.. I fear I've been restrained." Joker blew at a green curl in his eyes and then whispered, "Ohhhhh, BATman...? Come here and let me make it all better. Heh... heh..."   
  
The clown wasn't sure at this point whether or not he was playing around.   
  
*Here we go again.* Batman thought. But this was usually when the Joker started talking with something that resembled honesty. All he needed was a little push. "And how would you do that?" Batman asked.  
  
"I'd probably do that one thing you said repulsed you so very much," the clown replied with a sigh. "Or maybe let you give me mouth-to-mouth again. I still haven't figured out just WHAT you use, y'know.."  
  
Batman slowly crossed the room and stood near the Joker's head, looking down at him "No. I don't know." He said. "Enlighten me."  
  
"Untie me and I'll show you," Joker teased, opening and closing his hands for punctuation. "Or are you too afraid to risk something like that? Big, bad lunatic might getcha.." *What am I doing?* he asked himself mentally. *Have I really gone over the edge tonight?*  
  
"The restraints are for your own good." Batman reiterated, his suit creaking as he crossed his arms in front of his chest. "It's not me I'm worried about. You seem to have little regard for your own well-being."  
  
"So what? Let me out of them. I won't do anything stupid." Joker tugged a little, getting irratated at being made to lay on his back. He wanted to at least have the ability to sit up. "I can't talk to you like this. It feels awkward." *So does the fact that you're   
standing RIGHT over me,* he thought to himself. *Very.. unbat-like.*   
  
Batman considered the Joker's request. It was really a no-win situation. If he said no, the Joker would throw a fit and possibly dislocate his shoulder or worse. If he said yes he'd be loose. But he'd still be in the   
cell.  
  
Even though his first instinct had been that untying the Joker would be ridiculously stupid, upon further consideration, he realized it was probably the better of the two options.  
  
"Fine," he said resolutely. "But you're going to stay still until you're completely untied, or you're going into cuffs." He leaned over the Joker to untie his left wrist.  
  
Joker waited patiently, leaving his hand where it was even after Batman untied it. He supposed that just this once.. he'd follow   
instructions. After his left wrist was untied, he watched the Bat to see if he'd follow through and untie his other wrist.  
  
"There." Batman said, untying his right wrist. Now no tantrums."  
  
He started to back away.  
  
Joker sat up slowly and stretched out his arms, moving his fingers like they were tickling the air. "Much better!" A grin crossed over his features as he leaned forward a little more, reaching the edge of the mattress. "Where're you going? I thought you wanted me to make you feel better?"   
  
"No," Batman stated, going back to his perch on the other side of the room. "I don't want you to make yourself feel worse."  
  
"But if I weren't feeling yucky.. you'd want me to?" He lowered himself down onto the floor, taking his time so as not to alarm   
Batman.   
  
"You're going to keep asking that until I say yes?" Batman growled, watching him like a lion watches a gazelle before pouncing.   
  
Joker nodded and started crawling across the floor... but then stopped halfway.  
  
"What?" Batman said, sounding annoyed.  
  
"Just... seeing if you were gonna get up and kick me in the face," Joker responded lowly, his eyes tinged with devious intent.   
  
"Sorry to disappoint." Batman said, his annoyance changing to boredom.  
  
Joker took this as more of an invitation and crawled the rest of the way across the floor, plopping himself down right in front of   
Batman. "So tell me why you got so upset when I mentioned your parents."  
  
Batman glared at the Joker, looking down at him. *No violence.* He told himself. He forced himself to remain calm as he formulated a response. As he thought, he continued to stare the Joker down, hoping to catch a break and not have to answer.  
  
Joker lifted one eyebrow, leaned back on his hands and stuck his legs out in front, running them by Batman at a slight angle. "So?"  
  
*No such luck* Batman thought. At least he'd thought of a response. "Because I find Freudian psychobabble intolerably   
frustrating." He said. "Especially when babbled by a psycho."  
  
Joker ran a hand through his messy hair and shook his head, frowning.. but looking as though he were deep in thought. "You.. you just don't know how to have fun, do you?"  
  
"No," Batman said darkly.  
  
"Want me to show you how Harley and I have fun?" Joker teased, more than fully expecting a growl, no response of a punch in the face.   
  
"I'm not in the mood for checkers." Batman deadpanned, trying to stay distanced from what was going on.  
  
"I wasn't talking about checkers..." Joker scooted a little closer, leaning against the wall that connected with Batman's, making the corner between them very, very small.  
  
Batman was starting to get annoyed again. To try to vent just a little, he lifted his leg and pressed the bottom of his boot into   
the Joker's forehead, pinning him against the wall.  
  
Joker was a little surprised - to say the least - and didn't move at first. Now that his head was tilted back, the weight of Batman's foot on his forehead, it was rather difficult to see the bugger. "Damn you.." He reached up and ran a finger as far down Batman's leg as he could reach, giggling to himself. *That'll teach you...*  
  
Batman leaned forward, increasing the pressure on Joker's head. For good measure, he dug his heel in a little. He wasn't going to lose this battle of wills this time. The Joker had almost pushed him to the edge, and now that he'd weathered that, a welcomed numbness had decended. He could do this.  
  
This lack of response from Batman - and increased pressure on his forehead, which was painful - infuriated the Joker. He brought both hands up to the muscled leg, grasping it at the knee. His expression was different, now, however.. his nose flared slightly, his teeth were clenched and his eyes narrowed. It was most certainly an angry expression. Both hands ran lightly down Batman's thigh, able to reach further after Batman had moved.   
  
Batman ignored the feeling of the Joker's hands on him. The expression on his opponent's face more than made up for it. "What's the matter, Joker?" He taunted, pushing back and straightening his leg out so that the Joker's hands slid further away. *Damn it, you're not supposed to be enjoying this,* A voice inside his head said. But it was so tempting to have a little fun at the Joker's expense.  
  
Joker growled aggressively and tried sliding down the wall to get out from under Batman's foot. "Let me go," he grumbled, snarling afterward.   
  
"But this is making me feel better." Batman mocked, pushing down with his leg, sliding the Joker further down the wall. *It   
shouldn't.* He told himself. But it did. SO much better. He felt back in control of the situation. . . and yet, part of him felt like   
he was rapidly losing control of the situation.  
  
"Ohh.. well, then!" Joker spat, his voice scratchy with controlled fury. He turned his head to the side, trying to fake Batman out and get him to slip off of his forehead.   
  
"Isn't that what you wanted?" Batman asked, his voice a raspy growl as he continued to increase the downward pressure on the Joker's head.  
  
Joker put out for another couple of seconds, pretending it wasn't bothering him.. but as he got nearer to the floor, the pain   
increased in his neck.. He whined softly and clenched his eyes, pushing at Batman's boot with his tired arms.  
  
Batman watched the Joker squirm with sadistic fascination for a few seconds, forgetting for that time that it was actually his foot pressing down on the Joker's head. The Joker's whimpering finally snapped him out of it, and he shoved away from him, crossing the room, with the pretense of retrieving his cape. In truth, however, he was screaming at himself inside his head for allowing himself that indulgence.   
  
Joker rubbed his forehead, leaning forward after Batman left. "That was interesting," he shot at the Dark Knight, watching him move to get his cape.  
  
Batman's response was an indistinct growl, more animal than human. Couldn't that stupid clown shut up for two seconds?  
  
Not quite finished with this game, despite what just happened, Joker stood up slowly, making sure to keep his injuries in mind. He leaned on the wall with one hand and then made his way around the cell toward Batman. "Now, see.. that wasn't quite what I had in mind, Guano Man. YOU made YOURSELF feel better.. I had no part in it." This was - more than anything - just because he really... just.. didn't.. know how to stop.  
  
Batman's growl intensified. Even his body language had become feral. He just wanted the Joker to stay away. *Words. Too many words.* He thought. *What are you doing? Why aren't you thinking? Who ARE YOU?*   
  
Damn that caterpillar. Damn the cat. Damn the March Hare and the Mock Turtle and the cards and the god-forsaken Mad Hatter he was locked in this cage with. Damn them all. He was damned, why shouldn't they be?  
  
Joker moved forward, grinning madly. He knew very well what this was doing to Batman. It was making him uncomfortable. He dared to move in so close that his jacket brushed against the Bat's stomach. "So quiet..?"  
  
Batman forced himself to straighten up, using every bit of the three inches he had on the Joker to his psychological advantage. He was not going to back down. Was not going to run again. What could the Joker really do to him? He didn't have a weapon. He couldn't go anywhere. He just had to stay calm. Just had to stop jumping at shadows and hearing things that weren't there. Arkham Asylum was just another building. Just another building. He leaned in toward the Joker slightly, willing his eyes to bore into his brain.  
  
Joker swallowed against the rising unease in his throat. Deciding to be as vocal about this as possible, he whispered, "I hate it when you do that, darling." So very much was wrong about this whole situation... even he knew it... but he didn't care. All his natural instincts demanded that he cower, run away.. this thing before him was wild. But his maddened brain tugged in the other direction. Without really knowing he was doing it, he leaned forward, glaring up into the vaguely visible eyes.. right under that dark cowl.   
  
Batman tilted his chin down, sealing away the face behind the mask. The movement was done so quickly, his cowl brushed the curl in the middle of the Joker's forehead.  
  
Joker's facial expression slowly changed, turning into one of sickening curiosity. He reached up with his right hand and touched the side of Batman's face.. lightly with one finger.. He wanted to ask why his nemisis hid under the cowl, but he restrained his voice in his throat.   
  
The rumbling started again in the Dark Knight's throat. This time, he wasn't even aware of it. His lips curled in anger, revealing violently gritted teeth.  
  
"Shut up," Joker demanded forcefully, settling his hand on Batman's shoulder. His eyes widened as he realized he'd just snapped at an already angry man with at least three times his muscle mass. He slid his hand down a little and then lifted it off of the taller man's body, deciding to play it safe. But then... temptation surpassed reason as he touched Batman's belt a little. He'd never really had the chance to look at it before...  
  
"What. Are. You. Doing?" Batman said slowly, methodically, through his teeth, which were seemingly fused together.  
  
"Looking," Joker mumbled, pressing the middle square on Batman's belt. He furrowed his brows in concentration...  
  
"Looking doesn't involve touching." Batman hissed, his teeth still an unmoving barrier.  
  
"So?" the clown immediately responded, not even really thinking about consequences at this point. It was so very intriguing being this close to Batman.. and not in cuffs or being smashed into a wall. His other hand reached up to poke at the bat-sign on his foe's chest. "This is so cute," he mocked, bringing up Batman's earlier comment toward him.  
  
The muscles in Batman's chest twitched, recoiling at the Joker's touch. *Should have worn the other suit,* He thought, regretting his choice to wear the thinner, less constricting version of the Batsuit, in case he had to move fast. . . then again, the Joker might be dead if he had been any slower grabbing him on the stairs. He forced his breathing to stay even, even though the involuntary muscle contractions were making that hard.  
  
Joker was thrilled that his hand hadn't been slapped away.. and that the Batman had yet to say anything in protest. His left hand came back up, poking his nemisis in the gut ever.. so.. softly. He glanced upward, further tantalized by the neglect of movement. His right hand laid flat on Batman's chest, right over the signal. "Why did you put this on the suit? It only really matches the belt, sweetheart."  
  
"YOU'RE giving ME fashion tips?" Batman grumbled, still frozen as if made of stone. He was afraid to move. If he moved, he'd lash out. If he lashed out, he'd kill the Joker. The whispers were telling him it was okay, but it wasn't okay. It wasn't. His shoulders were starting to ache, and his entire body was as tense as a coiled spring. But he was still in control. Still sane. But the whispers. The whispers were getting louder.  
  
*He's wound up so tight he could snap any moment,* Joker thought to himself, cruelly enjoying the possibility. *Now.. to add a final touch...* He leaned in and pressed his body to Batman's, standing up as tall as he could make himself appear. His left hand - the one lingering near Batman's belt - snaked around the thick waist in front of him, pressing his hand into the small of Batsy's back. "Fashion tips come best from those with a fashion sense," Joker snarled under his breath, lifting one side of his mouth - and nose - slightly higher in a seductive-like manner.   
  
Batman's body started to violently shove the Joker away of it's own accord. He managed to stop himself. . . barely. . . just as he'd dug his hands into the Joker's upper arms. He closed his eyes behind the cowl and took a few breaths, his fingers twitching against the fabric of the Joker's suit. His ears were ringing. His head felt like it was going to explode. His back was burning where the Joker was touching him. With painful slowness, he started to move his hands down the Joker's arms. He could feel himself breaking into a sweat as he fought to slowly, calmly and slowly, disentangle himself from the Joker's clutches.  
  
Joker tensed up immediately, his eyes closing in a heartbeat. But the hands around his arms loosened all of a sudden.. *So he's going to play this the calm way... might as well take advantage of it..* His left hand hooked itself into Batman's back, his gloved fingers digging into the other man's spine. "I'm not letting go, dearest Bats.." His right hand snatched up a handful of cape, pulling it forward so that he kept himself as close as possible. "I told you I was going to make you feel better.. and I mean to keep my promise."  
  
"Let. Go." Batman growled between heavy breaths. His hands had curled up like claws again, threatening to pop the tendons in the Joker's elbows. With extreme effort, he tried to hit the nerves running down the Joker's arms that would forced his hands to release. Trigger points. Technique. Strategy. These were the things that held his sanity together. His expertise was his lifeline. In times like this, he clung to it.  
  
The clown's fingers suddenly went loose in response to Batman's move. Joker winced and clenched his teeth, glancing upward into Batman's eyes. *Almost got 'im! Take advantage of this! Get him stirred!* In an act of desperation, his body surged forward. The purple-suited man ground his hips forward into Batman's, touching his nemisis where he would never have imagined before tonight. He wanted some kind of affirmation that what he was doing had some kind of affect.. he waited the next few instants to see if he'd get it, proggressively increasing the pressure.   
  
The Bat, the Monster, surged within him. The child, the victim, screamed and hid away. Bruce Wayne's consciousness shattered, and for a moment, Batman was not aware of what he was doing.   
  
With an inhuman roar, he seized the Joker by the throat and lifted him as high into the air as he could. He would break him. Breaking him would make it stop.   
  
The noises. The whispers. The pain. The hate.   
  
His shoulders tensed and his face twisted into a maddened grin. Yes. This was the moment. It would all be over. So soon. All he had to do was squeeze, or smash the Joker's frail body to the ground. He was responsible. He was the reason his parents were dead. His mind was broken. His world was shattered.   
  
He was his own tormentor. His antagonist. . . and. . . his friend? Hadn't he said that? His BEST friend? Batman blinked, and suddenly, all of the strength drained from his body. He dropped the Joker weakly as his legs gave out and he fell against the plexiglass window that had sealed him in this prison only a short time ago. He wanted to die. It wasn't the Joker he was fighting here. It was himself. And he wasn't sure that he hadn't just lost.  
  
Joker gasped on the ground, coughing through vicious curses. But his plan had worked. He'd MADE the Batman hurt him. He'd broken his arch enemy's resolve and torn into his brain. He'd opened up the Bat and stared right inside. And what he saw exhilarated him. It thrilled him to the bone and left him stunned and aching for more. Such rage.. such a beast hidden under that cowl. And then... there was that moment that a flash of horror passed over the Batman's expression... it was that Joker was most intrigued by. That alone made him get up on his knees and turn to the hardened figure against the plexiglass window. He wiped the trail of blood off of his chin and swallowed against the coppery taste in his mouth. He silently came up behind Batman and rested a hand on his shoulder. The green eyes of madness were trained to the glass, however.. where he could see the face of the man that had nearly killed him moments ago.   
  
With a whimper, Batman slid down to the floor and curled into a fetal position, hugging his stomach and partially hiding under his cape. The floor was cold. It was a comforting sensation. He was vaguely aware of the Joker's presence, but found he didn't care that he was there.  
  
*So this is my victory,* Joker thought to himself, staring wide-eyed down at Batman. He was in awe of the way things had turned out. *I may pay for this all later when I return to my lair... but I've never felt so more electrified in my LIFE!* He slowly, cautiously went down to sit by the Bat, leaning sideways off of his legs so that his hip touched the floor. *He looks so... fragile.. I could break him with a touch.* That touch came right afterward. He pulled off his gloves and tossed them aside, quickly shedding himself of his jacket as well. They would hinder him. His right hand - slender and slightly colder than a normal man's skin - caressed Batman's face slowly, moving down from forehead to chin, staying clear of his eyes or mouth.   
  
Someone was touching him. Who? He couldn't remember. He knew he'd known a moment ago, but nothing mattered any more. It wasn't hurting him. It felt. . . comforting. Cold, like the floor. Cold. Safe. Solid. Batman's head twitched toward the Joker's hand, seeking any sort of comfort. He didn't understand how he'd ended up on the street, under a flickering street lamp. It was snowing. There were people on the ground with him. His parents. His parents were here. And someone else, touching him. But it wasn't hurting. He opened his eyes to see who it was, but everything was still dark.  
  
Joker leaned down and pressed his forehead against Batman's, slowly lowering his body down to the floor. Something was seriously wrong with his friend's mentality. And though it was satisfying, it was disturbing as well. He scooted in toward the cowering form of his long-time playmate and studied the look on his face. *Perfect,* was the only thing coming to mind. "I love our little game," he whispered into Batman's ear. "I love the way we canter around Gotham. The way we spin in loops of insanity. You." For one of the first times this evening, he was being as serious as humanly possible... and he shuddered with the realization of what had just passed between his lips. Without thinking, he nuzzled in closer and did the unthinkable. He pressed his mouth to Batman's, letting the moment last a few seconds before pulling away. So what if he didn't remember any of this tomorrow? Joker was living in the moment, feeling his mind folding out into hundreds of other thoughts.  
  
Everything was becoming so confusing. Everyone was supposed to be dead. He was supposed to be dead. This is where things were supposed to end. Lying on the hard, cold ground. But it wasn't ending. Bruce couldn't understand why. But someone was still alive, someone other than him. And they were talking. And they were getting closer. They loved him. He felt something touch his lips.   
  
A kiss? Why? Because they loved him. That's what you did when you loved someone. His bottom lip trembled as he tried to respond as he felt he should, but he was too weak. By the time he could respond, it was over, and he still didn't understand. He tried to move his head to stop the person from pulling away, to avoid losing the only link he had to the world, but he only moved a little. But someone loved him. Someone who wasn't dead. The thought made him want to laugh, to cry, to do anything but lie there. He wanted to see again. To live again. He wanted to understand again.   
  
He could do this. He could go on. His parents were dead. The people who loved him were dead. But there was someone else too. Someone he hadn't known about. Who? Light started returning to his eyes. He could see colors again.   
  
Green. The color green. It was like being reborn. The images started to focus, to take shape. Soon he would understand. Would know the face of his saviour, the one who brought him back from the brink of self-annihilation. And everything would be okay.  
  
The Caliph of Clowns was taken aback by the response in Batman's subtle movement. He wanted to return the kiss..? His steady hand once more rested on the face of his friend, though it was more confident this time. A gentle thumb pulled across the quivering lip of his favorite enemy as he used the other hand to reach upward. For what..? Only when his fingers reached fabric did he realize he was pulling the cape down over them, blanketing them in darkness and warmth. He let out a soft sigh - one of relief and of exhaustion - before moving in to reclaim Batman's lips. He closed his eyes and furrowed his brows, pressing his body against the large one once more... but this time it was a kind movement. One of caring and a strange kind of committment. His idle hand slid around Batman's waist, holding him.   
  
Bruce's mouth opened slightly as the Joker's thumb brushed his lips. The Joker? No. That was crazy. The Joker wouldn't be. . .  
There was a rustling, and things went dark again. No! He wanted to see! He wanted the light to come back! No more darkness!  
  
He was just starting to panic when he was taken by another kiss, and a warmth spread through his body. It was dark, but he didn't need to see anymore. He knew all he needed to know. Part of his mind was shrieking, screaming, pleading with him to stop. This was sick! This was wrong! This was madness!  
  
But in the Wonderland that was Arkham Asylum, everyone was mad. Nonesense WAS sense. Fight it, and off with your head. His eyes adjusted to the new darkness, and he caught a glimpse of white. The rabbit? Yes. The rabbit had led him in here. They'd tumbled down the rabbit hole, passed through the looking glass, and had played a game. It was all a game.  
  
Or was it the white roses? He'd painted them red. Yes he had. Warm, flowing, sticky red. He'd felt it on his hands.   
  
Messy messy. Joker had gotten it in his mouth. That was funny. Joker was funny. Joker was close. Very close. He'd woken him up from a very bad dream, or at least he was going to, very soon.  
  
But Joker was cold. So cold. Dead people were cold.   
  
Was Joker dying? Yes. He'd remembered the worry he'd felt. It was his fault. He'd ruined everything. And Joker had promised to make it better, and he had.  
  
So now it was his turn to make things better. His turn to bring the Joker back to life. And Joker had taught him just how to do that. It was simple. Just make him feel warm again.  
  
Joker was a good teacher. And it was time to end the story.  
  
Batman reached out and brushed a few stray hairs from the Joker's cheek, studying the face that, even in the blackness they'd   
descended into, was just barely visible. He could see how he'd hurt him.  
  
Make it better, Bruce. Make it all better.  
  
He pressed his hand against the Joker's cheek, gently, ever so gently. Now all he had to do was lean in, and give the Joker back   
some warmth. . .  
  
* * * * * 


	3. The Break Out

Chapter 3 - The Break Out  
  
"Mmph.. gdmn.. hynah.."   
  
Green eyes opened slowly and squinted against a faint glimmer of sunlight. "What..?"   
  
Joker lifted his head from the ever-so-comfortable cell bed and grumbled to himself. He glanced around the small area and then laid back down, wincing a bit. All at once, last night flew back into his mind.. rushes of images, words, feelings..   
  
After thinking a moment on that, he looked down, finally figuring out why his arms ached. A *very* tight straight-jacket had been placed on him. "Damn.." He squirmed a little against it, testing it's durability.. and then stopped when the pain in his stomach rose. The Arkham attendants hadn't even bothered to check on his injuries. They simply bound him and then dragged him to his bed, locking him away for as long as they could keep him.  
  
Maybe they figured he'd be less likely to escape? Or maybe it was a cruel sort of revenge for the lives he'd ended in his years.. But whatever it was, it was inhumane. And it hurt. A lot.   
  
"When's that idiot woman going to get here?!" he hissed, suddenly very moody after last night. He felt a lump of boredom growing in the back of his throat. Or was that sadness? Hard to tell, really...  
  
There was a strange scritching sound on the other side of the wall, like a very large squirrel scurrying up it. Then the sound stopped. . .  
  
Joker suddenly came out of his throughts, catching the sound with his paranoid ears. He waited, listening...  
  
*KABOOM!*   
  
In a huge, almost cartoonish explosion, a huge chunk of the wall opposite Joker blew away. Sunlight streaked through the hole, becoming obscured by the dust and debris.  
  
"Finally!" Joker spat, glaring through the floating dust. "I thought you'd decided to run away with that Weed again..."   
  
But there was no answer. No one was there. There was a big, giant hole, but no one outside it. Not even a sound.  
  
"Harley?" The green-haired clown shifted and forced himself into a sitting position, peering with narrowed eyes. "Poo? Are you out there?"  
  
Some of the debris shifted and fell to the ground below, but there was still no sign of Harley.  
  
Grumbling angrily, Joker stood up and made his way toward the wall. *I swear.. that woman..* He leaned over the edge and winced slightly. This was taking far too much of an effort on his half... and he was paying for it.  
  
From above came the sound of a pulley system squeaking, and something black and red crashed down on the Joker's head.  
  
"HEY MISTA JA-AY!" Harley squealed in a sing song rhythm. "GUESS WHO'S HERE TA SAVE YA?!?!"  
  
She looked around the cell, but couldn't see the Joker anywhere. "Mista J?" She said softly, now less sure of herself.  
  
Joker felt the rage exploding in his chest as a few broken ribs shifted. An inhuman roar tore from his throat seconds later. Had his hands been free, the woman would be dead.   
  
"Ooooh! There ya are!" Harley gushed, patting the Joker on the bum before hopping off of him. "Ya know Mista Jay, ya really shouldn't go stickin' yer head out holes like that. Wouldn't want my Puddin' gettin hurt now, would we?" She did a little 'Harley did good' dance and hopped around to face the Joker.  
  
Had his eyes been able to kill..... "HARLEY!" he screamed, his face contorting into a violent mingling of emotion.   
  
Harley's face fell, and she looked confused. "What's the matter?" She asked. "Don't ya like the getaway car?" 


	4. The Morn After

Chapter 4 - The Morn After  
  
Bruce Wayne woke up with a start, sitting bolt upright. Something tugged at his skin in numerous places. Medical sensors of some kind.   
  
What...?   
  
Pieces of the night before started coming back to him, slowly at first, then with increasing momentum. Alfred appeared at his side, and started explaining that Jim Gordon had found him unconscious on the floor of the Joker's cell in Arkham, next to the Joker, and had pulled strings to get him out of there and into Dr. Thompkins' care. She had called Alfred, and the butler had returned his master to the cave.  
  
The guards on that floor in the Asylum had been found shot to death, but other than that, it seemed that things were normal. Some kind of trigger mechanism had been found and removed, but no one was quite sure what it was supposed to have done. The Joker's blood had been found in quite a few places, and the inmate was badly injured, but, all and all, Gordon seemed amazed that things hadn't turned out worse.  
  
Bruce was hardly listening. He was too busy trying to make sense of what had happened last night, going through all of it in his mind, analyzing and reanalyzing every bit of information. A lot of it was fuzzy. Much of it made no sense. Memories of his parent's death had gotten mixed in, as well as things that were likely hallucinations, but seemed too real. Had the Joker really said all that? Had he really kissed him? Had he, the Batman, actually let that happen?  
  
Bruce had to admit to himself that he was scared. Gordon was wrong. It couldn't have been worse. He'd been defeated. Broken. That was alwayshard to accept, but his body had been broken before. His mind? His mind had been under his control since his parents' murder.  
  
Hadn't it? He wasn't so sure any more.  
  
According to Alfred, his vital signs had been irregular, as if he'd had a panic attack or some kind of breakdown. That would explain quite a few things. But what had pushed him that far? Was it a combination of events? One specific trigger? The Joker's constant prodding, slowly wearing him down? All of these things? None of them?  
  
The thing that frightened him more than anything was how comforting letting go had felt. For a brief period that night, things had made sense. Life had made sense. Now nothing made sense. The unthinkable had happened. The unreconcilable.  
  
What was he going to do now?  
  
He realized then that Alfred had stopped talking. When he looked over at his butler, he knew immediately that there was something he wasn't being told.  
  
"What?" He demanded.  
  
"Well, Master Bruce," Alfred began, lowering his head. "The Joker's escaped, but I really don't think. . ."  
  
He looked up. He was alone.  
  
***  
  
Batman sat down and started monitoring police frequencies. Harley blew a hole in the wall. Unbelievable. How did she get that far?  
  
He spun around in the chair and started toward the suit. He was going out. He was going to find that crazy bastard and he was going to. . .  
  
Going to what?  
  
If he thought about that, he'd be crippled, so he stopped that thought where it was. He was determined not to lose round two...  
  
Better take the bulletproof suit this time.  
  
*****  
  
A dark, cloaked figure stood amidst the wreckage at Arkham Asylum. The forensics team steered clear of him. Something wasn't right. He was creepier than usual. He'd normally ask questions, or at least tell them they were doing something wrong. Communicate in some way. Today he just stood there, like some kind of demonic statue, staring at the cell. And at nothing really in particular, just a spot on the floor. And even then, it was almost as if he wasn't really seeing it.  
  
The hole in the wall leant an unnatural brightness to the surroundings, making the Dark Knight seem even more out of place. The Downtown Gotham skyline could be seen through the hole in the wall.  
  
The worlds inside and outside Arkham meeting precisely where Batman was standing.  
  
Meanwhile, the Dark Knight was trying to figure out how everything had gone so wrong. This place needed him. The Joker was right in a sense -- part of him belonged here. The part of him that terrorized every denizen of this place wasn't pervasive enough. He had to put more of himself into it. He was spending all his time putting these monsters here, just so they could break out again. It was a maddening cycle. . .  
  
. . .Here we go and here we go and here we go again, no one ever loses and nobody ever wins. . .  
  
Damn that book! It was the ravings of a suspected pedophile who didn't like the way the system was run.  
  
*The Joker would say that sounded like you, Bruce.*  
  
*I don't give a rat's ass about what the Joker would say!*  
  
*Don't you? Just last night you were curled up together like. . .*  
  
*SHUT UP! It means nothing! It was a breakdown! I'm not responsible for what I did!*  
  
*You're always responsible. That's what makes you different. That's what stops you from ending up in here.*  
  
*But I am in here. Part of me is. Part of me will always be in this cell, right in that spot. A piece of me I can't get back.*  
  
*You've lost pieces before. You go on without them. That's why you have me.*  
  
Two shots.  
  
The rapid flapping of wings.  
  
The shrieking cry of the Bat.  
  
Batman's head snapped up, awaking him from his trance and startling the nearest forensics team member.  
  
Arkham Asylum was Bruce Wayne's mess to fix, and he knew exactly how he was going to do that. But for now, Batman had to find the Joker and clean up that mess.  
  
When the worker he'd startled just a moment ago looked back at him, there was nothing but a hole in the wall, bleeding reddish, late-afternoon light into the cell.  
  
  
*****  
  
Batman had questioned the guards at Arkham, and one of them had recorded the license plate of the Joker's getaway car. They'd used a marked car? That was either the Joker being obvious, or Harley being obviously stupid, and the Joker being too weak to do anything about it.  
  
Either way, it made them a lot easier to find.  
  
The plate number went out over all police frequencies. Soon, a few sightings popped up in a fairly straight path to Gotham's old industrial district. The exact location hadn't been pinpointed, but it was enough for him to get started.  
  
Another factory? Harley really needed to work on her originality. But he wasn't complaining that she was a creature of habit.  
  
He set off, away from Arkham. He remarked that the place wasn't anywhere near as forboding during the day.  
  
*****  
  
In an abandoned toy factory, Joker laid out on a crudely made bed and covered his eyes with his hands. After Harley had managed to work the straight-jacket off of him, he had given her something to think about. She sat on the edge of the bed nearby, watching him intently. Her left arm was bruised - but couldn't be noticed due to her costume. She sighed and reached out to touch Joker's leg, wishing he would say something to her. She had only made his injuries worse, and she felt bad enough to die at the sound of her puddin's voice.   
  
Memories of last night raced through Joker's mind over and over again, running him in circles and landing him back at the same spot. It didn't make any sense... and that was only part of the reason it wouldn't leave his mind. He could still feel the Batman's tortured psyche, reaching out for comfort in a way only he had been able to fix.   
  
And it hurt.  
  
It was worse than the pain in his stomach. He had tasted the promise of life in those few moments... and now they were gone. Vanished. It was as though the wind had swept away all the events and left him with a gaping hole in his chest.   
  
Joker didn't know if he would ever be able to fill it again.   
  
*****  
  
It took a few hours, but as the sun was retreating behind the horizon, Batman located the car in a dark alley between two factories. He shook hishead at how obvious the "hiding spot" was. Why did the Joker keep thatobsessed airhead around? Perhaps, based on some of the things he'd said the night before, that he liked having someone's undivided attention.  
  
But back to the immediate problem: which factory were they hiding in? One was. . .  
  
A toy factory. Typical.  
  
He started scaling the outside of the building, locating the window nearest Joker and Harley fairly quickly.  
  
*****  
  
Harley shifted slightly, pulling her legs up onto the bed. She wasn't sure what to make of her puddin's rambling. He kept mentioning the Bat.. which meant something awful had happened. She'd never seen him so upset and didn't like it at all. It made her uncomfortable to see anything but smiles on his face.   
  
She let her eyes wander off, looking over the walls and windows of the lonely factory. It would've been a good way to calm herself down had she not met eyes with a dark figure all of a sudden.   
  
"Batman!" she yelped. 


	5. The Game

Chapter 5 - The Game  
  
BLAM! BLAM! BLAM! BLAM! BLAM! BLAM!   
  
...click click click...  
  
Harley peered at Batman, the gun... Batman... the gun... and then threw the empty six-shooter aside, getting up from the bed to face him. "H-how was traffic?" she asked, giggling nervously. She glanced over her shoulder at Joker, and then back in front again. "What do I do, Mistah J?"   
  
"Shut up," Joker answered sullenly. He rolled over and sighed, giving Batman a look that could kill. "Well, look who decided to make an appearance tonight. Figures." He scooted to the edge of the bed, pulled on a shirt and his pants, and ignored Batman for a good long couple of seconds. "Aw, Bats.. I haven't all night. Are you here to apologize or what?" He smirked, lifting one brow as he peered across the room. Had he the strength, he would've risen to his feet and bounded for the exit. Instead, he sank back down into the mattress, leaning against the headboard.   
  
Batman stood stone still. He was trying to determine whether there was a different edge to the Joker's voice, or whether it was his perceptions that were different.  
  
"Really... you should give it a rest on the occasion. I mean, c'mon.. what did we talk about last night, eh?" Joker raised his pointer finger into the air and moved it back and forth a few times. "Tsk, tsk." When he realized how shaky his movements were, he let his hand fall back down to the bed.   
  
The Prince of Crime couldn't help the next part of his train of thought...  
  
*What if he doesn't remember? What if last night only served to add to my list of misfortunes? And if he doesn't, it means he's likely to drag me right back to Arkham... and... our conversation will have been in vain.*  
  
Batman looked over at Harley, having determined that the Joker wasn't any immediate threat. In fact, he didn't look so good. Then again, Bruce Wayne's reflection today hadn't been all that great either.  
  
"What's wrong with him?" The Bat asked Harley, trying to find out how much she knew.  
  
"You beat him up! That's what's wrong!" Harley retorted, her voice scratchy as her emotions boiled. She took a few steps to the left, standing between the two men. "An' I'm not gonna let you do it anymore!" She clenched her fists in front of her and ground her teeth.   
  
Batman stared at her, a slight move of his arm making a creaking sound in the quiet room.  
  
Harley choked on a rise of fear, her eyes narrowed but fearful anyway. "What?" she asked softly. "Aintcha gonna say anything?"   
  
Joker sighed and rolled away from the both of them, placing his hand over his ear. "Be quiet, Harl... He's going to beat you up and take me back to Arkham." He rested his other hand on his stomach, frowning just beyond their view.   
  
Batman stared at Harley for a moment, then snapped around and headed for the Joker. He started examining him for injuries.  
  
"Why couldn't you just stay put?" He grumbled.  
  
Joker protested faintly, pushing Batman's hands away a few times. "Why couldn't you?" he retorted.   
  
Harley's muscles twitched as she watched on. What was the Bat doing? She watched him nervously, seriously considering taking advantage of the fact that his back was turned.  
  
"Don't even think about it." the Dark Knight said, raising his voice just enough so she could tell he was talking to her.  
  
Harley folded her arms over her chest and rubbed at the bruised area under her costume. "Yessir," she grumbled, stepping closer to keep an eye on things.   
  
Batman found a soft patch on Joker's chest, around the collar bone. He frowned.  
  
"I didn't do this." He said to the Joker.  
  
"No," Joker managed, closing his eyes in response to the pressure of Batman's fingers. "Harley did it."   
  
Behind the both of them, the henchwench winced, hoping the Bat wouldn't get on her about it. It wasn't as though she'd done it on purpose. "I'm sorry, puddin'.." She backed away and hung her head, leaning on the wall sadly. "Wh-what are you gonna do, Batman?" she asked.   
  
"He needs medical attention." Batman explained. "Probably surgery."  
  
Joker looked up at this. *Medical attention?* "And who do you propose will be willing to do that?" he asked sourly, glaring up at his foe from under his fingers.  
  
"Anyone I tell to." Batman said violently.  
  
The tone in Batman's voice startled Joker and drew his curiosity out from under his angry demeanor. "Oh, Bats... a little touchy today, are we?" He snickered softly and pulled away from him just a bit. "I don't think you slept very well last night. Am I right?"   
  
"You know where I was last night." Batman snapped.  
  
Joker smirked despite himself, feeling his heart jump a little. Part of him was a little worried Batman would lash out... but that part was too buried underneath his other mental qualities to care. "Oh, yes.. that's right. You were on the floor of a cell in Arkham," he hissed. "What did you think of the place? Comfy?" He narrowed his eyes at the Bat.. and then turned away, his body shaking as he rolled onto his side.   
  
Batman bit his tongue and used the opportunity to check the Joker's back. He had a nasty blunt trauma across his shoulderblades. "Harley do this too?"  
  
"Yeah," Joker muttered, vaguely disappointed that Batman had neglected to answer his question. He closed his eyes and sighed just barely. His mind continuously returned to last night, rethinking the things they had said to each other. It seemed so long ago... so unreal. And Batman had been so mentally strained. Something he had said had hit a chord with the Dark Knight.. or maybe a compilation of everything.   
  
"Actchally da wall did that." Harley whimpered.  
  
Batman paused, absorbing that. Then he realized that Harley wasn't the one he should be concentrating on.  
  
"Let's go, Joker." He said.  
  
"Oh, no! Like I have a CHOICE!" Joker spat, coughing immediately afterward. His shoulders moved back and forth violently as he covered his face with his hands.   
  
Harley gasped and hurried over to the bedside, her eyes wide with worry. She glanced from Batman to the Joker.. and pulled at his cape. "What's wrong with him?!" she demanded.   
  
Batman grabbed her hand and pressed it against the Joker's back at the spot of the injury.  
  
"That rib feels like it's about to go into his lung." He explained. "Has he been coughing up blood?"  
  
Joker whined a little at the harshness of Batman's movement, moving to urge them away. He answered Batman's question on his own; his fingers were dotted with fresh splats of crimson.   
  
"It has gone into his lung." Batman growled, reaching into his belt to get some bandages.   
  
"Sit up." He told the Joker.  
  
Suddenly vicious emerald eyes flashed upward at the Batman's cowl, daring him to force the Prince to move. He shook his head and let out a small gag as he fought off another round of coughing.   
  
Harley paced in the background. "C'mon, already! Can't we just leave? I'm scared, B-man!"  
  
"I said SIT UP!" Batman bellowed.  
  
Joker bared his teeth, growling in the back of his throat. With an ill-chosen move, Joker tried to reach out for him, only succeeding in further harming himself.   
  
Batman grabbed him and pulled him to a sitting position. Then he started to bind the Joker's ribs to stop them from shifting further.  
  
"This isn't funny." He said. "Knock it off."  
  
Joker gasped when Batman pulled him upward, unable to control the yelp of pain that forced it's way out through his lips. "Y-you're hurting me!" he whispered. "Stop it!"  
  
Harley snarled and grabbed for Batman's throat, her thin fingers getting a handful of cowl.   
  
Batman smacked her away like she was a black and red fly. He ignored the Joker's protests and started wrapping the bandages tightly.  
  
Harley fell to the floor on her stomach, propping herself up with her hands to stare in shock upward at Batman. She didn't dare move out of pure fear, noting immediately the change in attitude. He wasn't going to tolerate her... not even in the slightest. She could recognize this, at least.   
  
"B-batman!" Joker choked out, his words forming between each labored breath. "Cut it out, already!" He reached up to grab at Batman's wrists, staring into his slitted eyes - demanding attention be paid to him. But even as he did so, the rise of a certain off-balanced mentality squeezed out a good couple of giggles. His eyes watered as Batman's rough hands tightened the bandages around his chest.   
  
Batman still said nothing as he secured the bandages and stepped away. He saw Harley on the ground and gave her a kick.  
  
"Get up."  
  
The frightened woman leapt to her feet, backing away with a few quick stumbles of uncoordinated legs. "W-what? What're ya doin', B-man?"   
  
"Getting him to a hospital." The Dark Knight replied, forcing his anger down. Kicking Harley had been unnecessary. "I'll carry him. You open the doors. Move."  
  
Harley glanced at the Joker and then hurried to do as she'd been commanded. She scooped the keys to her car off the ground and headed for the door, glancing over her shoulder to be sure they were coming.   
  
Joker sat on the bed miserably, his face skewed with a mingling of pain and unbridled anger. He looked like he was thinking up every swear known to man, just glaring from his completely still position. This was NOT what he'd been expecting to have to deal with. Tempering with the Batman's mind was dangerous... and yet... undeniably intriguing.   
  
* 


	6. It's All So Funny

Chapter 6 - It's All So Funny  
  
Minutes later, both Batman and Harley were in the back of the building, the former of the two carrying an unusually quiet madman. Harley was eager to leave, jingling the keys in her fingers while glancing around. She wished fervently that everything would be okay for her clown lover.   
  
Joker closed his eyes, relaxing into the crook of Batman's arms as he was carried. It felt like last night... so warm and strangely comforting... like how it felt to slip into a heated tub of water. He slowly drifted off, too weak to remain awake for long at this point.  
  
"Joker?" Batman urged, feeling the fragile body starting to sag.  
  
Harley snapped out of her thoughts when Bats talked again. "What's th'matta?" she asked nervously, turning around to look.   
  
Joker grumbled faintly and sighed afterward, vanishing off into a dreamland of his own creation.   
  
"Damn!" Batman hissed, feeling Joker go limp. He set him into the passenger seat of the Batmobile and shook his self-professed 'friend's' bony shoulders. "Joker! Stay awake! You can't fall asleep!"  
  
Pale green eyes looked up at Batman, wondering at the concern in his voice. "Why.. not?" He shifted slightly in the seat, finding the groove of the cushion and sinking into it. Robin had probably been right here countless times. Something about that made him minutely jealous. That boy didn't even have to kill to get attention.   
  
"Because I need you conscious." Batman told him urgently.  
  
Harley paced nearby, unable to stand this. "Can we get going? Please..? I'll follow.." She jingled the keys and looked like she   
was going to walk to the car, but paused. "Can we go?"   
  
"Yes. Go." Batman answered, closing the passenger side door and crossing in front of the car to get in the driver's seat. "Gotham General. Meet you there."  
  
"K!" Harley darted off to the stolen car, having to go a little distance to find it in the alley. She started it up, her fingers shaking just enough to make the task difficult. Immediately, she turned down the radio, tapping her left foot anxiously...  
  
Batman slid into the driver's seat and closed the door, then started the car. "Are you still with me, Joker?"  
  
"Heh..heh.." A tired chuckle let Batman know the answer as he lifted his face to look at his captor and playmate. "Present." He groaned softly and crossed his arms over his stomach, turning away to lean on his right shoulder.  
  
Batman nodded, put the car in gear, and roared out of the alley, trying to get to the hospital as fast as he could, and hating the silence.  
  
"Talk to me," He said to the Joker, reaching over to shake him a little again.  
  
Joker blinked a few times, searching for something to say. Anything that didn't have to do with last night. "A little boy gets up to go to the bathroom in the middle of the night..." He coughed and whined softly. "As he passes his parent's bedroom.." Another few coughs and he pauses, wincing in pain.. "..he peeks in through the keyhole. He watches for a moment, then continues.." After another painful attempt at speech, he growls out, "Dammit, Bats.. I hope you're happy about what you did to me.."   
  
"We've been through this." Batman grumbled, keeping his eyes on the road.  
  
Angrily, Joker turned to glare at Batman. He tried his best to use whatever was left of his strength as he forced out the last of his   
joke. "He watches for a moment, then continues on down the hallway, saying to himself, 'Boy, and she gets mad at me for sucking my thumb.'" After finishing, he turned away, coldly pretending not to notice Batman there any longer.  
  
Batman sat in silence for a while, wondering how to respond. Eventually, he thought of something. Something sufficiently vile.  
  
"Superman's flying over the streets of Metropolis, and sees Wonder Woman naked, spread eagle on top of a building. Thinking his friend is in trouble, he flies down to investigate and his more carnal urges get the better of him. Afterward, Superman asks Wonder Woman if it was good for her. Wonder Woman looks over at Superman and says, 'That was great for me, but the Invisible Man will never walk again!'"  
  
He waited for Joker's response.  
  
"Hmph," Joker answered. What? Was that joke supposed to get a rise out of him? "I'm surprised you didn't include yourself in that story, Bats.. You sure it was Supey?" He reached to touch the car door in a curious manner, inspecting the inside of the Batmobile from his position. His fingers slid along the padded area on the arm rest.   
  
"Guess you had to be there." Batman said dryly as he turned a corner, trying not to smirk.  
  
"You say that like you're sad I wasn't," he spat back quickly, grabbing a hold of the seat when they turned.   
  
* 


	7. State of Emergency

Chapter 7 - State of Emergency  
  
A short while later...  
  
Batman pulled up in front of the emergency entrance at Gotham General. A pair of paramedics on break, and a boy with a broken arm accompanied by his mother, stared slack-jawed at the car and the dark, imposing figure who emerged from it. The mother pulled her son into the building as one of the paramedics dropped his coffee.  
  
"Mommy! That's B. . ." The child could be heard exclaiming as the sliding doors closed.  
  
Batman glanced dismissively at the shocked paramedic and opened the passenger side door.  
  
"We've got an audience." He muttered to the Joker as he carefully lifted him out of the car.  
  
"So we have," Joker responded quietly, turning toward Batman in his arms and hiding his face in his 'friend's chest. The light of the ER section in the hospital was a little too bright.   
  
"Holy shit!" The other paramedic was now beside himself. He'd been on clean up duty at one of the Joker's massacres. "Hey Batman! Did you kick his ass?! Cause you can gi. . ."  
  
Batman snapped his head sideways and murderously glared the man into silence. He then carried the Joker into the hospital.  
  
Joker made a mental note to kill that man later. As soon as this was over and he was on the streets again, he'd be back - and not in the Bat's possession. He'd be back with a nice syringe chock-full of 'joker-toxin.' A soft giggle escaped his lips at the thought of watching the paramedic die.   
  
But when the temperature changed - as they entered the hospital - he grew quiet again. He had to admit he was slightly nervous about this. What if they refused to treat him? He was, afterall, a psycopath.. and had claimed many lives in his years spent in Gotham. But then, another thought ran through his mind...  
  
*Batman will make it better. He'll make it all better...*  
  
The Dark Knight looked down at the Joker, ignoring the sudden dead quiet of the room. When the Joker giggled, it was never good, but a giggle was better than no noise at all.  
  
All eyes were upon them, and it made him want to smack something. He didn't like being in bright rooms like this either.  
  
The silence was broken by the little boy with the broken arm getting away from his mother and running over.  
  
"Hi Batman." The boy said, his eyes wide with awe.  
  
Batman looked down at the boy. He was probably about six. Of course. Why did they always have to be about that age? The child had his whole life, and so many cruelties ahead of him.  
  
He gave the boy a slight nod. "Go back to your mom." He said. "I have work to do."  
  
The boy nodded and ran back to his mother, gushing excitedly about Batman talking to him. At least he had a mother to run back to.  
  
Batman carried the Joker through the waiting room and through a set of crash doors to the Emergency Room proper. One of the nurses halfheartedly attempted a "Sir, you can't go in there." but didn't seem to expect him to actually listen. He didn't.  
  
He found an empty bed and settled the Joker down on it. Then he batcuffed him to the bed rail, more as a way of putting the staff at ease than anything. He grabbed the first doctor that came by. The obviously intimidated Latino man tried his best to remain professional.  
  
"W-what seems to be the problem?" He asked.  
  
"Internal injuries and a punctured lung," Batman stated. "Aggravated by an escape attempt from Arkham."  
  
The doctor nodded and nervously approached the Joker.  
  
"Okay Mister, um, Joker? Is it okay if I call you that?" He asked.  
  
Joker ignored the doctor, turning to look at the wall instead of the obviously nervous and equally repulsive man. He fingered the cuffs a little, wriggling his hands as though trying to get out of them.  
  
"Joker," Batman growled sternly. "I'm losing my patience."  
  
The doctor stayed away, not wanting to get near the lunatic without permission. "Perhaps I should call Arkham Asylum."  
  
"If I wanted an Arkham doctor looking after him, I'd have taken him to Arkham!" Batman snapped. "He probably requires surgery, which they didn't do this morning and probably won't do if he goes back there."  
  
"O-okay." The cowed and cowering doctor said.  
  
Joker smirked and looked up at Batman. "Mister J will be fine, doc." He settled onto the stretcher and closed his eyes, satisfied to hear what he wanted to from the Bat.  
  
The doctor cautiously approached Joker and gingerly lifted up his shirt to examine his chest. "Oh my god," he gasped, pushing on the Joker's ribs, which shifted under his fingers. "What happened?"  
  
Batman turned away, not able to look at his own handiwork. It's not like the Joker wouldn't have done the same to him -- he'd sustained a few cracked ribs at the Clown's hand. But he wasn't the Joker. He wouldn't LET himself be.  
  
"Where does it hurt the most?" The doctor, whose hospital ID read Dr. Carlos Perez, asked.  
  
"Where you're sticking your bony fingers!" Joker snapped, his eyes half-slitted in pain. He pulled at the handcuffs, his natural   
reaction being to curl up into a fetal position. "Bats.. you play rough.."   
  
Batman didn't answer. He was watching a gunshot victim being brought in with morbid fascination.  
  
"I see," Dr. Perez answered the Joker, glancing briefly over at Batman before turning back to his patient. "Are you coughing or urinating blood?"  
  
"Not currently." Joker bared his teeth at the doctor, giggling at the immediate response he received. When the Bat turned to look, he would immediately quiet down again. As his giggles grew in intensity, a string of coughs filled his lungs and forced their way out.. and didn't stop for a good couple of minutes. A trickle of blood passed through his lips and trailed down his cheek.   
  
The doctor had started backward and knocked a tray off the counter by the sink in the small emergency cubicle. Batman turned around to see what was causing the commotion, and the Joker's coughing. He gave the Joker a cold stare: he wasn't helping anything.  
  
Joker smiled innocently up at Batman, batting his eyelashes several times. He puckered his lips and then coughed again, closing his eyes.   
  
Batman's jaw clenched. Why did the Joker always have to be so infuriating?  
  
"Well," Dr. Perez squeaked. "I'd like to take some X-rays. . ." He looked fearfully at the Joker. "If that's alright?"  
  
"If I said 'no'... would you do it anyway?" Joker paused and then added, "Nevermind... I know the answer to that. Batsy would *make* you." He let out a soft moan in response to all the hacking he was doing. His throat was sore.. along with the tense muscles around his injuries.  
  
"Okay, I'll do up the requisition, and I'll have a nurse come in the meantime to give you something for the pain." The doctor said, then made a quick exit.  
  
Batman let a few seconds tick by before saying "You're not making things easier."  
  
"I'm not trying to," Joker uttered calmly, not bothering to look up. He twisted his wrists around, wishing he weren't hand-cuffed   
down. "Is this for your own pleasure or are you just paranoid that a next-to-dead madman might get you...?"  
  
"It's so you don't harm the people who are trying to help you," Batman replied with equal calm. "Now stop being stupid and let them help you."  
  
Joker considered what Batman was telling him to do, pondering what might happen if he didn't do as ordered. But instead of simply letting the matter drop and be dealt with in an orderly fashion, he cleared his throat and made an out-right dare. "If you can remember and TELL me what happened last night - right before you fell asleep - then I will cooperate and do anything you ask of me for the next couple of hours."  
  
Batman knew the Joker was baiting him. Trying to make him angry. He had to be better than that. Stronger willed. Last night was not going to be repeated. He'd gone over things repeatedly, meticulously analyzing every detail until he was so numb that it felt like it had happened to someone else. . . mostly.  
  
And seeing the hole blown in the wall at Arkham reminded him of the price of his mistakes.  
  
He had a plan. It had come to him on the ride over to the hospital, when the Joker had gotten so angry at him countering his jokes. He had to trump him early. Not doing so, acting completely as the Joker expected him to, had been his mistake last night.  
  
He pulled the curtain closed and approached the Joker. He leaned over him, shadowing the white face from the cold flourescent light above. Without a word, he kissed the Joker on the forehead, just long enough to make a solid 'I remember' point.   
  
Joker's eyes rolled upward to look at Batman - or what he could see of him - with a surprised and more than amused expression. It widened his mouth at both sides, creating a sated grin.   
  
After a meaningful pause, Batman moved away again, standing tall over the weakened lunatic.  
  
The clown waited silently, his face serious, for Batman to say anything. And when he didn't, Joker spoke up. "I... think I asked for you to tell me. I want to hear you say it. I want you to acknoweledge it to me. The kiss was nice, but..." He lifted his eyebrows expectantly.  
  
"Actions speak louder than words, don't they?" Batman asked, facing away from the Joker.  
  
"No. Not this time, they don't." Joker frowned. "I want to hear you tell me that you touched me last night. I want you to admit to the actions you performed. To say them to my face." He would have kicked Batman in the back merely to get his attention, but decided against it. "Tell me."  
  
"No. You've gotten all you're getting from me."  
  
"Then you've received all YOU'll get from ME." Joker stared at the back of Batman's head angrily, waiting for him to do anything.. but mostly to turn and talk with him face-to-face.  
  
"Fine!" Batman spat finally, his back still to the Joker. He only turned around when a nurse came in to set up a morphine drip.  
  
"Hello," the perky brunette exclaimed to the Joker, a wide smile plastered forcefully on her face.  
  
Frowning angrily, Joker refused to respond to the nurse. He merely watched as she prepared the drugs, recalling Batman's own   
administration of them just last night. He would play this the hard way from this moment on. If Bats was going to be a pain in the ass.. then, dammit.. why couldn't he?  
  
"Okay, Mister J." The nurse said pleasantly as she started feeling for a vein in his hand. "You're just going to feel a little prick, and we'll be all set, okay?"  
  
Joker snickered and refrained from commenting. He tried his best not to watch as the nurse stuck the needle under his skin. It was always an uneasy feeling.. even after years of receiving medication this way. Off in his own thoughts, he wondered vaguely if Batman would be around for the evening. Or if he'd leave... abandon him like he had last night.  
  
The nurse set up the drip. "There. Now just relax and someone will be by to take you to X-ray," she explained. She then dared to reach out and brush the Joker's hair away from where it had fallen over his eye.  
  
Batman hoped that the Joker wouldn't do anything, but was ready in case he did.  
  
Joker tensed. The first thought to cross his mind was about when Harley did that. He wasn't too sure he liked it very much, either. The second thought to follow immediately behind it was of when Batman had done that very same thing... while laying on the floor of Joker's cell.   
  
Had Batman not been standing nearby, he might have reacted differently. But instead, he took the soothing gesture and bit down on his violent urges. He then realized that X-rays meant he would have to change clothing. He wondered if they would even so much as let him do it himself.   
  
"Well, you're not so scary." The nurse said with a smile. She set a hospital gown down on Joker's legs and patted him reassuringly. She glanced over at Batman and saw the furious look he was giving her.  
  
"Well. . . Um. . . Not as scary as him, anyway." She was noticeably cowed and looking frightened, gathering her things quickly. As soon as she was all set, she exited the area, eager to be free of the dangerous atmosphere.  
  
Joker waited until the nurse was out of the room and down the hallway before bothering to say anything. And when he did, it was a mocking statement. "I can see it now.. Batman: Lady's Man. Just look at the way she fawned over your charming personality." He grinned, pleased with himself, and watched Bats.  
  
Batman ignored the Joker's statement and unlocked the side of the batcuffs that had been attached to the bed. "Get changed."  
  
Joker sat up slowly, using his arms to stay propped up. It hurt, but he'd be damned to ask Batman for help. "Go away and sit in a corner or something. You make me sad the way you ignore what I have to say." He picked the gown up from off of his legs and made a face. "They really want me to wear this? Y'know, Bats.. I can't remember the last time I've been in a hospital. Well, to get   
treated, that is. There was that one time I-..." He cut himself off. "Ah, I won't dwell on my past. Heh.. I don't think you want to   
think about that, anyway." He shook the gown out and looked at it a while longer before glancing around the room. "No changing area? Phooey.."  
  
"Quit stalling," Batman demanded, glancing at a roll of medical tape. One more stupid comment and a generous portion was going across the Joker's mouth.  
  
"Alright, already.." Joker pulled off the t-shirt provided by Harley and threw it at Batman. "If you insist on having me take my clothes off..." The words were said as drawn-out and valley-girlish as he could manage. He paused on the last word, shaking his head for emphasis and while raising his eyebrows.  
  
Batman very calmly caught the t-shirt, twisted it up, and tied a knot in the middle of it. He then started tearing off lengths of tape and sticking the end on the counter top. The sound of the tape ripping helped his mood immensely.  
  
Joker tilted his head to the side, eyeing the pieces of tape on the counter. He wasn't too sure what his 'friend' was thinking, but he hoped it wasn't what he imagined. Carefully he began undoing his slacks, working slowly to avoid the impending pain throughout his back. "Sheesh, Bats.." He searched for something to say that wouldn't sound like a plead for aid. The morphine began doing it's job, however, taking the edge off of his body's feelings. "Would you stop that racket, already? Bah! Say something!" He growled in a frustrated manner, his eyes flickering back and forth between the two eye slits on Batman's face.   
  
Batman pulled out another strip of tape and tore it off agonizingly slowly. He forced himself not to smirk.  
  
"What is WRONG with you?" Joker demanded, his eyes widening as his temper flared. He would get a word out of Batman if it were the last thing he did. Slowly he worked the pants off of his body, whipping them aside before jerking himself off of the bed... and right down onto the floor in a heap of crippled fury.   
  
Batman rolled his eyes behind the cowl. He calmly set down the tape and walked over to where the Joker had landed on the floor and stood over him.  
  
Joker immediately reached out, snatching up a handful of cape in his ghastly white fingers. "I just... want you to talk to me," he hissed, pulling at it. He was lucky the morphine drip hadn't been torn out - it was barely long enough so that it reached.  
  
"Why?" Batman figured that one word wouldn't hurt.  
  
Joker gathered what strength he could muster, took in a deep breath and spat a mixture of bloody saliva onto Batman's left foot.   
  
Batman forced himself to stay calm. Not to be outdone, he calmly lifted his foot and wiped his boot off in the Joker's hair.  
  
To say he was disgusted would be to undergauge the Joker's feelings toward Batman. His throat tightened in response to the maddeningly disrespectful response he'd received. He couldn't hurt the bastard right now - that much was certain. But... what was stopping himself from doing the opposite? Nothing.  
  
Joker pressed his hand into his chest, forcing his ribs to shift as he intensified the pressure. "The... rules..." he gasped, "are... going to.. uhhnn... change!"   
  
Batman dropped to his knees and pushed the Joker's hands away, forcing them behind his back.  
  
"I'm not worth that, Joker," he hissed. He said it without really thinking it through, except hoping that it would make the lunatic stop.  
  
"You don't understand," Joker responded, winded from the excruciating experience. "You are." The words stung his lips as they passed through, knocking him momentarily off of his sense of pride. "I thought.. we understood each other.. after.. after last night. Didn't I tell you what it is to gather your attention?"   
  
"How do I know you weren't lying?" Batman responded, searching the Joker's deformed face for any clue.  
  
"Isn't it enough for me to have said it?" Joker countered, raising his eyes to meet with Batman's. It was the first time he'd ever been in an area light enough to notice the color behind the cowl... a gorgeous and startling blue. He gawked at the color, registering it and storing the sight into his mind forever.   
  
"That's the difference between us." Batman grumbled, sounding disappointed. "I care about the truth."  
  
"I can tell you I care about it right now... because I want to hear it from you." Joker ran his left through his curls, trying to move them away from his eyes. "Do I need to tell you again what I said last night?"  
  
"No." Batman said quickly.  
  
"Why not?" Joker prompted. He reached out to touch Batman's hand.. the one propping up the man's frame.   
  
"I remember." Batman growled. "Now do you need help off the floor or not?"  
  
"No. I may as well stay here. That way you can step on my head or kick me in the gut if you like." Joker frowned and laid down on the cold hospital floor. "I wish you weren't so difficult."  
  
"I'll take that as a yes." Batman said. He started to gingerly move Joker out from under the lip of the table.  
  
Joker let out a long sigh, cooperating but not helping any. He allowed his adversary to move him, leaning his weight into Batman's body when he was lifted from the floor. "Not in the mood for beating me senseless?"  
  
The Dark Knight didn't dignify that with a response. He settled the Joker back on the table just in time for the nurse to come in.  
  
"Okay, Mr. . . Um. . . Joker?" She said. "We're going to take you for x-rays. . . D-did you hit your head?" She pointed at the blood in his hair.  
  
"Yeah," Joker lied, averting his eyes from Batman. "I fell..." He glanced at the batcuffs attached to his right wrist, hoping the nurse wouldn't notice.. and run off screaming. *That actually could hold potential amusement,* he thought quickly.  
  
"That's no good," The nurse muttered with expected condension. "Let's get you cleaned up then." She started for the sink.   
  
Joker waited for her to return, laying back down onto the bed. The large blur of blackness out of the corner of his eyes called to him... nearly begged him to turn and look. He resisted the urge, however, finally settling on just hiding his eyes behind drawn lids.   
  
The nurse returned with a wet cloth and wiped the blood out of the Joker's hair. Her expression became puzzled.  
  
"That's funny. . ."  
  
"X-rays. Now." Batman interrupted.  
  
The nurse swallowed hard and took the brake off the Joker's stretcher.  
  
"Oooooh... we're going for a ride!" Joker giggled, shooting a glare over toward Batman. *Dammit! I gave in!* he swore mentally.  
  
Batman followed as the nurse wheeled the Joker into the X-ray room.  
  
"Now if we could just get you on the table." She said to the Joker.  
  
"Sure, lady.. if you think you can lift me!" Joker slapped her on the shoulder, two quick chuckles breaking the safe feeling of the room.  
  
The nurse jumped away, looking frightened.  
  
"I'll do it." Batman said, glaring at the Joker as he came toward him.  
  
"*I'm* difficult?" He muttered.  
  
Joker nodded, closing his eyes in a very prideful fashion. After the Batman laid his hands on him, he looked back up, peering at the cowl for signs of life. "You sure you can handle touching me, Batboy?"  
  
Again, Batman didn't dignify that with an answer. He moved the Joker onto the table, and retreated to the doorway.  
  
"Okay then. Hold still," the shaken nurse directed. She went into the adjacent room to calibrate the machine.  
  
After many threats, pushes of buttons and battles of wills, the nurse finally gave up, and Batman was forced to cuff the Joker down. It appeared that the morphine was doing a little more than soothing his pain. The last X-ray finally came out right and had been taken during a brief moment when the Joker had paused to say something. As the door opened from both sides again, he found himself laughing as hard as he could. Tears streamed down his cheeks as the pain returned, but still, he continued the hideously obnoxious string of bemused laughter.   
  
The sound rang through the small space and seeped into the hallway, chilling all passing doctors and patients alike.   
  
*  
  
After the X-rays were completed and taken off to be examined, the Joker was put under and wheeled into an operating room to receive the medical attention he needed. Batman was directed to wait outside but anyone there knew with one look that he wasn't going to listen. He, instead, entered the OR and kept a close eye on the things happening, a dark, ominous figure silently reminding the surgeons that they'd better not screw up. There was a choking sense of guilt in his chest the whole three hours it took for the doctors to finish. And when they had finally completed the task, the Joker was still listed in critical condition.  
  
* 


	8. Visiting Hours

Chapter 8 - Visiting Hours  
  
In the quiet hours past midnight, the hospital continued to buzz with life. Nurses passed through the halls, checking on their patients as directed. Inside a particularly dark room, a soft beeping noise filled the air every few seconds, keeping track of a weak heartbeat. The door was left open a crack, allowing a stream of light to filter through.   
  
The Joker had yet to move after hours of being under the influence of heavy narcotics. He hadn't even dreamt at this point.   
  
But all of a sudden he made a soft noise and shifted slightly on the mattress.   
  
His first instincts were dulled and forgotten as he woke up, peering at the ceiling with hazy green eyes. And when he spoke, his voice wavered. It was weak and strained as he struggled to stay awake. "Batman?"   
  
Joker tried looking around the room, but all he could see were empty shadows. There were no narrowed eyes peering at him... no gruff answer... no movements at all. He quickly determined the room was empty besides him, and let out a disappointed sigh. *It was stupid of you to imagine otherwise,* he scolded himself.   
  
*****  
  
The wind howled atop the roof of the GCPD. Jim Gordon awaited the arrival of Batman anxiously. He lit another cigarette and took a long pull on it. Last night had got him started again.  
  
He was trying not to think the worst, but it was difficult. If he blinked now, he'd see the two of them lying on the floor together, wrapped up in that cape, looking so peaceful.  
  
But the Joker had obviously had the tar kicked out of him. What the hell had happened?  
  
He heard the flapping of fabric behind him. It could have been the wind, but he'd been doing this dance long enough to know better.  
  
"Batman."  
  
"Jim."  
  
There was an awkward silence. Gordon wanted to ask how he was doing, but he didn't dare. The less he knew, the better. Fortunately, Batman got down to business right away.  
  
"How long will it take those changes I suggested for Arkham to get started?" He asked.  
  
"With Wayne money behind them? Only as long as it takes the architects to do the blueprints, I'd imagine."  
  
"How long will that take?" The eye slits in the cowl reflected two flecks of moonlight.  
  
"I'm not an architect."  
  
Just then, Commissioner Gordon's cell phone rang.  
  
"Gordon." He answered. "Yup. Yup. Just a few minutes ago? Got it."  
  
He hung up. Batman watched with interest.  
  
"He's awake." The commissioner announced.  
  
"What's his condition?"  
  
"Critical."  
  
That gave the Dark Knight pause. "Damn it, Harley."  
  
"You're the one that nearly killed him." Gordon pointed out.  
  
Batman glared at him. Gordon wasn't fazed.  
  
"I've seen you do this dance for a lot of years." He said, then took another pull on his cigarette. "You don't do things like that. You don't lose control. Maybe you should consider getting out. . ."  
  
He looked up. The Batman was gone.  
  
*****  
  
All at once the light in the room shifted, seemingly blocked in some areas, and then replaced in others. Joker stared at the shapes the lights made for a few seconds, muttering something to himself. His eyes made their way to the door of the room, meeting with two white slits where eyes should be. The dark form hulking a ways away melted into the doorway and floated on the air. It mutated slowly, drifting off to the left.   
  
Joker squeezed his eyes shut and tried to focus again, registering the fact that it was Batman after a couple of tries. "Hello," he managed, giggling light-headedly afterward. He lifted his left hand off the bed, waving with the tips of his fingers. "I... don't feel so good, Bats..."   
  
When the form moved into the room and closed the door, Joker smiled a little - as best he could with muscles that felt like foam. His heart rate sped up a little, showing on the moniters nearby.   
  
"Are you in pain, or is it just the anesthetic?" The Dark Knight asked, concern lacing his voice. He picked up the chart at the foot of the bed and started reading it using a flashlight. He noticed the quickening of the beeping that represented the Joker's heartbeat.  
  
"Relax." He said. "I'm not going to hurt you. You don't have to be afraid of me right now."  
  
It occurred to him that those were the most words he'd ever spoken to the Joker at a single stretch without there being a dire need to be verbose. His strategy with the Clown Prince had been to say as little to him as possible, partially because he didn't say much in general when he was Batman, but also because he didn't want to give the Joker any reason to believe they had anything in common. Any relationship whatsoever.  
  
Now, however, he was questioning the wisdom of those tactics. He was considering the possibility that, if the Joker was really out for his attention, then those theories about him creating the super villains that seemed to sprout up around Gotham had a degree of truth to them, at least in the Joker's case. If the mass murders really were a ploy for attention, then ignoring the Joker only made things worse. At the very least, he was giving the Clown a reason to continue, when otherwise he might have   
gotten bored with the whole thing.  
  
It was a lot of accountability to swallow: so many lives, so much distruction. He hadn't wanted to believe those theories, because it seemed so egotistical to do so. But perhaps it was vain to ignore them totally too.  
  
He had to admit, he wasn't able to solve this mystery. . . yet.  
  
However, on the way over, he'd devised a new plan to deal with his arch-nemesis. He wasn't sure that it would do anything, but it was worth a try: nothing else had worked, and he was tired of failing.  
  
Joker closed his eyes as Batman read the charts, relaxing into the bed as best he could. The hulking presence of his former arch nemisis set his nerves alight with excitement, fear and a tingling need to speak. "Not in pain," he mumbled, his voice weak under the layer of giddy energy. It wasn't what he wanted to say... but he was having trouble sorting through his mingled thoughts.   
  
The room felt strangely more warm than was usual when with the Bat. He had entered with a distinctly adjusted attitude, and the Joker had immediately absorbed it. It was the processing part he was having difficulty with. "How.. do I look?" he joked lightly, opening his eyes to watch for Batman's eye slits.   
  
"Like hell." Batman responded honestly with a slight smirk.  
  
"Good," the clown giggled. "I didn't think you'd come." He frowned and peered at the chart in Batman's hand. "Is.. is it bad?"  
  
"Not terrible, considering." Batman responded, then replaced the chart. "I think you'll live."  
  
"Think?" Joker looked away and off to the side, taking in a deep breath as he thought over the word usage.   
  
"You'll live." Batman said firmly, some of the old harshness returning.  
  
Joker glanced up at him, contained and very watered-down frustration shining in his eyes. He didn't say anything, but shifted on the bed, feeling the weakness in his arms more completely.   
  
*New plan. New plan.* Batman told himself.  
  
"You're a first class pain in the ass, Joker." He said.  
  
"I try," Joker snapped. "Makes... makes things more interesting that way. At least you... talk when I'm a pain." His eyes softened as he gave up on shifting, finding it more difficult than he'd originally planned. He peered upward, a glint of fascination passing over his expression. He wanted to see those eyes again.   
  
Batman nodded and intentionally started pacing the room, a pensive look on his face.   
  
"No. No, you're wrong." He said after a while. "I say less when you irritate me."  
  
"What's that supposed to mean?" Joker asked, following Batman with his eyes. "That you aren't irrar.. uh.." He cleared his throat and pinched the bridge of his nose. "..irratated.. with me?"   
  
"Not yet." Batman answered. Another smirk. He crouched down next to the bed.  
  
Joker nodded silently and went about his business of inspecting himself. He lifted the sheets to feel around the bandages on his chest. "Nice job, I guess," he mumbled. "So.. what were you out do-ow!" He pulled his hands away and let the sheets fall. "Picking. Bad."  
  
"Picking. Bad." Batman agreed. The smirk became more of a grin.  
  
Joker glanced instinctively up at Batman's face, noting the smile with complete and utter fascination. Had he ever seen Batman smile like that? Ever? In all their years of having been 'playmates,' Joker couldn't recall a time it had been there. And it was such an improvement! "Very bad," he tested, smiling lightly in response. He couldn't help it. The look on Batman's face was infectous... it delighted him to no end.   
  
Batman looked over the Joker's broken body and sighed. His expression became sad. He was aware that the Joker was staring, but didn't really care at the moment.  
  
"I don't want to do this anymore, Joker." He said.  
  
Batman's simple statement put Joker off just enough that he couldn't find the right words to respond with. He struggled to come up with anything to say, closing his eyes to try to clear his mind. It was no use. He was far too drugged up to even care. So, instead, he waited to see if Batman would speak again.   
  
The Bat headed for the window in Joker's room, moving quietly. Red and blue lights reflected off his face and cowl as an ambulance pulled into the Emergency entrance below.  
  
"Why do you say that?" Joker asked, trying to break the silence. He didn't like it when Batman brooded. The whole feel of the room changed when he did that.   
  
Red blue red blue red blue. The flashing colors twisted on the Dark Knight's face, mirroring the feelings inside him.  
  
He tried to put the feelings into words, but couldn't. Emoting wasn't his strong suit. The feelings were replaced by frustration.  
  
"Because it's getting old." He growled. That wasn't what he'd wanted to say, but it was all he could manage.  
  
Joker winced and let out a quick sigh. "You were smiling a moment ago. Why the change of attitudes, Bats?" He wanted to get up and follow him... stand next to him and look him in the eye.   
  
"Temporary insanity." The Bat grumbled. The more frustrated he got, the more his other emotions shut down. His mind was betraying him again, in exactly the opposite way it had last night. When he wanted to use his emotions, they weren't there.  
  
His lip curled in anger. He wanted to hit something.  
  
"Don't shut me out again," Joker responded, pushing his body upward into a sitting position. He wavered slightly and paused to let his muscles get used to being used.   
  
"I'm trying not to." Batman said through gritted teeth.  
  
Joker ran his shaking hand through his hair, pushing it back from his forehead. It had been stuck to his skin and was really starting to bother him. Stupid hospital. "So come over here and tell me what you're really thinking about."   
  
"It's not. . . that simple." The Bat was forcing his words out. Slowly, he turned and took a few steps toward the bed.   
  
"Sure it is," Joker protested, waving his hand in the air. "Come on.. don't be sour about it. Just talk."   
  
"Easy for you to say!" Batman snapped. "You never shut up!"  
  
"And you don't know how to form multiple syllables!" Joker snarled, getting a little dizzy the longer he stayed up.   
  
Batman growled at him viciously. His fist came up. It hung in the air.  
  
"What are you going to do with that, hmm, Bats? Hit me with it? Collapse my face so that I can't talk to you anymore?" Joker taunted Batman openly, pointing with one finger. "It'd do some good, wouldn't it? You wouldn't have to face reality, then. You could just pretend I'd never said anything at all! Face it! You're afraid to really talk to me! You're afraid there'll be a repeat of last night! And I can't understand what was so goddamned horrible about it!"   
  
A feral roar ripped itself from Batman's throat as he tore his fist out of the air. He fled back to the window in a flurry of flapping black cape.  
  
"Wait!" Joker cried. "You can't leave! I'm not through speaking to you!" His hands came down on the metal bar keeping him from falling off.   
  
Batman leaned on the window ledge. His shoulders were heaving violently as he tried to catch his breath. He was sweating under the cowl. It was starting to itch.  
  
"Batman," the madman's voice whispered. "Just... talk to me."   
  
"Batman. Doesn't. Talk."  
  
In a moment of clarity, the Dark Knight flew across the room, closed the door, locked it, and drew himself into the darkest corner of the almost pitch black room. That done, he tore the cowl off his head.  
  
Suddenly, he could breathe. He could think.  
  
Joker bit his lip anxiously, watching as the shadows melted together and enveloped the Batman. He was gone suddenly, vanished into that which he embraced. The moniters picked up speed again, beeping more quickly in the silent room. He couldn't bite back the fear rising in his throat. It was too dark. He could feel the anger. "What are you doing?" he asked softly.   
  
There was an eery silence in the room. Nothing but a slight rustle of heavy fabric.  
  
Joker backed up into the metal head-board, bringing one hand to his chin in thoughtful repose. "Are you alright?"   
  
A helicopter flew by outside, scanning the room in an arc of light. Because of the angle, however, it didn't illuminate that corner much. As the noise of the helicopter faded away, the Batman's voice said, "Fine."  
  
Green eyes snapped from the window back to the corner he figured Batman was hiding in. "Where are your pointed ears?" he demanded, squinting into the shadows. "Why, bless my soul... have you unmasked yourself?"   
  
"You want to talk? Let's talk."  
  
"Oh, goodie.. you're ready to be cooperative!" Joker's voice was laced with sarcasm. He cleared his throat and then took in a deep breath. His next words were softer, less abrasive to the ears... particularly of the pointed variety. "What's on your mind?"   
  
"I keep trying to talk and it. . . It gets stuck." Batman's voice was softening, changing.  
  
"How can I help you?" Joker turned his body to watch the shadows, wishing he could just get up already. His recovery was going to be a LONG one. "I want to help you..."  
  
There was a creaking as the suit fought against Batman shaking his head. "You can't." He said, then paused. "That's not true. You can. You can stop killing people and destroying things and generally being a first class psychopath! You can try to find an ounce of humanity in that twisted black heart of yours and use what is obviously a brilliant mind for something other than ruining people's lives to get my attention! I don't want that kind of responsibility!" Bruce felt dizzy. That had been very cathartic.  
  
"Then why do you put on the mask every night? Isn't it your duty to do that? To carry that responsibility? Nevermind the fact that you have to deal with me... what about all those others? The weed... Spooky... the Snowglobe..." He sighed and rubbed his temple, laying back against the wall again. His vision was blurring slightly. "Why have you waited so long to figure out what I was really after? If my mind is brilliant, than what is yours?"   
  
A sigh. "All the others combined don't amount to the sheer. . . lunancy of what you pull off. I'm too busy trying to figure out what you're going to do next. I never considered that it was all part of a grand scheme to get me to pay attention to you. I didn't think there was any method to your madness."  
  
"I..." Joker stopped in his protest. It would get him nowhere if he were to argue. He was having trouble coming up with something else to say, though. "I'm surprised. But to tell you the truth, I wasn't really sure about it, either." He looked down and covered his face with his hands. "Until last night, I hadn't ever been able to think straight about it. I couldn't have explained it to you before then. As.. as silly as it sounds..." He giggled softly and moved his hands so they covered his mouth, only. "Where were you before you came here tonight?"   
  
"Police station. Looking into making your room at Arkham all nice and cozy for when you go back there." The figure in the corner shifted and chuckled softly. "I'm having them paint it purple."  
  
Joker blinked a few times and washed away the words he'd prepared. Batman had surprised him just now. "Why should you care?" He refrained from mentioning he wasn't GOING to be going back.   
  
"Because maybe if I care, you will too."  
  
"Hrmm... thank you." Joker paused and thought for a couple of seconds. *Don't do it,* he scolded himself mentally. *Don't you dare say something to infuriate him.* "Are you having them set you up a room as well?" *Dammit!* "Heh... heh... it was a joke." He made a face and searched for a cover-up... something to dismiss the blurted ramblings. Hell, maybe Batman would just smile and pretend it hadn't happened. "Don't kid yourself," he murmured, his eyes distant. He hadn't realized he's spoken out loud.   
  
"Sure Joker. And we can have slumber parties and tell ghost stories after the guards call lights out. I'll hide you under my bed and stuff pillows under your blankets so they don't suspect." The figure shook his head and rubbed his forhead. He looked and sounded almost drunk. He was actually just depressurizing and letting himself be stupid for a moment.  
  
Joker slapped his forehead and started laughing, picturing it in his mind in an almost cartoon-styled version. "Oh, and I could do your hair! Imagine how cute you'd look with pig-tails!" He laughed harder and harder, filling the room with the sound of his strained voice. Tears streamed down his cheeks after a little while. He tried calming himself, fighting to take in deep breaths rather than the rapid, shallow ones he'd been having. He wanted to stop long enough to address the issue of how they'd been sleeping last night. Batman's comment had made him remember something he was curious about.   
  
"No way. YOU'RE the one in pigtails. And purple bunny slippers! And milk and little smiley face cookies!" Bruce was laughing now too at the sheer ridiculousness of the whole thing.  
  
"Oh, I can't STAND it!" Joker managed, his laughter rising in volume again. "My.. m-my hair isn't long enough! And I'd only eat the cookies if you'd made them, y'know.. Can't trust those guards.." He giggled spastically, shaking the bed in time with his body movements. *And I could feed them to you,* he thought to himself.   
  
"Oh, and I look SO sharp in an apron, too." Bruce countered, wiping at his eyes. He then realized how hard the Joker was laughing and grew serious. "Joker. Stop. You'll hurt yourself."  
  
"It already hurts," Joker hissed, his laughter breaking and falling apart as he spoke. He waited until he could breathe again before looking toward Batman. "I wish you could come over here. It's hard carrying on a conversation with somebody hiding in the shadows." He shrugged and laid down, sighing as he did so. He really had no desire to look feeble, but there was no choice in the matter. "We should play dress-up sometime," he added on, almost as an afterthought.   
  
A pair of hands grabbed the abandoned cowl. "Isn't that what we've been doing this whole time?"  
  
Batman replaced his cowl. The window closed.  
  
He got up and moved toward the Joker.  
  
"Okay. I'm over here." He said.  
  
"I'm trying to decipher whether or not that's a good thing," Joker responded, looking up into the slitted eyes. "I could've simply turned away if it would've made you feel better." He frowned and rubbed at his eyes. "Anyway, I wanted to ask you... Last night... What... what were you thinking about when you and I...?" He moved his hands around in the air, trying to finish the sentence without actually saying it. "...when you kissed me."   
  
Batman's face became inscrutable.  
  
"You were cold." He said.  
  
"Oh..." Joker thought over the simple statement. "...Is that all?"  
  
"My brain wasn't functioning like it normally does." Batman explained. "It made a lot more sense at the time."  
  
"Now I can't help but ask you if you regret it. Are you disgusted by me?" Joker lifted a brow and shifted, propping himself upward again.   
  
Batman's visual attention turned to the metal bed railing. He ran his hand along it.  
  
"Not as much as I used to be." A pause... "I try not to regret things," he added.  
  
Joker smiled to himself and reached out to touch Batman's hand, running a finger over his knuckles. "These hurt, y'know."   
  
Batman's arm jerked, but his hand clamped onto the rail, forcing himself not to pull away. "They're supposed to." He said.  
  
A soft flinching of muscles could be seen in Joker's arm, responding to the sudden tension in Batman's hand. "I know. I was just saying..." A string of curiosity had tied itself around his willpower and completely cut if off... He dared to rest his hand on Batman's, leaving it there to test the control his nightly playmate had.   
  
A muscle in Batman's jaw twitched just where the cowl ended. "Somebody's gotta do it."   
  
"Not anymore," Joker answered immediately. The second the words left his mouth, he regretted saying that. It was a promise, and one he couldn't be sure he would keep. He closed his eyes and shook his head. *Oh, boy... what're you getting yourself into, now?* Absentmindedly, his fingers stroked the glove, memorizing the form underneath it.   
  
Batman looked at him with undisguised distrust. His hand snaked away from the railing. "What the hell is that supposed to mean?" he growled.  
  
"Nothing." Joker pulled back and laid down, turning his head away. "Forget about it." The moment had passed in his mind. There had been a brief instant in which he could've imagined himself giving up his way of life... ending the murders... the destruction... But it passed. All that replaced it was thoughts of how pained he felt inside. He couldn't understand it.   
  
Batman lunged at the Joker and grabbed his head, turning it back toward him.  
  
"What. Have. You. Done?" he demanded, assuming that the Joker had cooked up yet another way to try to kill him and/or numerous other people. How could he have been so stupid? He'd let his guard down.  
  
So much for talking.  
  
"Batman!" Joker yelped, his eyes wide in blatant fear. He winced under the hands' tightened grip, clenching the sheets in his fingers. "What're you doing?!"   
  
"Answer the question!" Batman commanded an answer through gritted teeth - with such force that a small drop of moisture flew from his mouth and landed on the Joker's face.  
  
The moniters beeped more quickly than they had all night, going off one after the other. "Let me go! I'm sorry! You.. you misunderstood me!" The sheets ripped in his hands. "I... I..." He couldn't force anymore words out, feeling his throat tighten. The drugs made him hazy.. he couldn't think fast enough to even react properly.   
  
Batman let him go, but his hand stayed poised to grab him again if he didn't like the explanation. There was a commotion in the hallway as the nursing staff tried to respond to the monitors and tried the locked door. Batman's head snapped around to look over his shoulder.  
  
"Go!" he barked. The hallway grew obediently quiet. He turned his attention back to the Joker. "Talk."  
  
Joker tried his best to regain some measure of composure, coughing nervously as the Batman stared him down. "I only wanted to tell you I'd stop..." He felt incredibly intimidated, lowering his eyes as though commanded to do so. "I would stop..."   
  
Batman stared at him for a painfully long time, his expression slowly becoming more and more enraged.  
  
He felt betrayed.  
  
"You're lying!" He spat. In one fluid movement, he made an arc of the room, unlocked the door and undid the safety fasteners on the window.  
  
And he was gone.   
  
* 


	9. A Change of Heart

Chapter 9 - A Change Of Heart  
  
Batman had been up for thirty-eight hours straight. This did not make for a particularly jovial mood, nor a great deal of patience. He busied his brain calculating how many people were once again not speaking to him because of these side-effects of sleep deprivation while the Batcave's computer did a particularly complicated police database search.  
  
If he didn't do something, he'd fall asleep. He couldn't afford to do that now.  
  
Dick, Tim, he'd even managed to annoy Clark. . . He was a little proud of Clark.  
  
His mind turned back to work.  
  
What was the Joker's game here? He'd chased down every lead he could think of, and they'd all lead nowhere. The only thing that was remotely promising what that Harley had disappeared. If he could find her, maybe then. . .  
  
The computer got a hit. Harley had just been arrested trying to visit the Joker in the hospital.  
  
His last lead had been shot down. Where did that leave him?  
  
He didn't have an answer, and in that moment of mental inactivity, he drifted off for a split second, then woke with a start. He chastised himself for the moment of laziness and tried to force his brain to work with the same efficiency as the computer had.  
  
Try as he might, he could only think of one remaining possibility: the Joker had been telling the truth.  
  
He felt himself go hot, then cold. He didn't know if it was the fatigue, or the consideration of that possibility. If that were true, then. . .  
  
Oh God.  
  
*****  
  
"...what the guy said, Lou. I don't have anymore control over it than you do," Dr. Carlos Perez muttered, stepping into room 345. A shorter, pudgy caucasian doctor followed, sighing over a clipboard in his hands. The two exchanged wary looks and closed the door behind them, wishing they had been sent off to check on other patients.   
  
The Joker had not been particularly easy to deal with as of late. Ever since the occurrence three nights ago, he had refused to do much more than growl and lash out at them. This was partially due to the fact that sedatives were being pumped into his system, and partly due to something else entirely. Something none of the staff could begin to recognize or understand.   
  
"But so soon?" the shorter doctor asked.   
  
"Hey, Gordon's orders are final. Better to let them take over his care as soon as possible. The other patients are scared witless."   
  
"Is he asleep?"   
  
Both doctors humbled themselves and approached Joker's bedside. They went about their business of checking his health. He was doing significantly better - moreso than the doctors had originally imagined. But he was quiet, his eyes closed.   
  
*Another night,* a soft voice declared. *Another night gone by and he has yet to return.*   
  
"Vital signs are normal," Dr. Perez murmured.   
  
*He's abandoned you. He won't be coming back.*  
  
"...stitches need a slight..."  
  
*What about the rules?* Joker's fingers twitched and then closed into two fists.   
  
"I thought he was asleep!" the short doctor hissed, motioning toward the bed.   
  
"What about the rules?!" a raspy voice surged, breaking free of the Joker's lips. It startled both doctors and sent them away several feet. Flashes of emerald produced gasps from both men as the madman sat up in bed. "He can't do this to me! I won't LET HIM!"  
  
Outside in the hallway, two screams erupted from room 345. Moments later the door flew open and hit the wall. A perfectly disorientated and crazed clown prince emerged, his teeth clenched and hands bloody. A syringe fell from his fingers, hitting the floor with a sharp couple of light clinking sounds.   
  
The staff and nearby patients wheeled on their heels, fleeing in horror. Screams rose from the lips of the faint of heart, alerting security - too late - that something was horrifically wrong.   
  
Joker turned to drag Dr. Perez into the hallway, cackling with widened eyes. "I'll MAKE you see me! You have no choice!" His entire body shook itself violently, struggling to remain awake and standing. The andrenaline and pure madness in his brain kept him moving, alert and ready to cause complete mayhem. "NO CHOICE!" he raged. "PAY ATTENTION TO ME!"  
  
He kicked the doctor's body, filled with distress when it neglected to respond. His heart raced in his chest, pushing the blood and medications throughout his body. "Wakey wakey!" he screamed. "You're ignoring me! You! Just like HIM!" He slammed his fists down onto the bare floor, turning and pushing over a cart of snacks nearby. "I won't be ignored!" Joker stumbled to his feet and took off down the hall, tripping over forgotten purses and trays of medicines.   
  
Along the way a cardboard box caught his eyes. "Dangerous... health hazard," he growled, reading the label only for himself. His crimson-stained fingers ripped at the edges, tearing into the confined space. "Dangerous!" The box came open as Joker spilled the contents onto the floor - ten sacks of blood. An inhuman roar burned his throat as he scratched at the bags, picking them up one by one. Just as soon as they were in his hands, he'd thrown them across the hall, watching them smash and burst open all over the walls.   
  
"I won't be ignored!"  
  
He threw himself chest-first against the crimson splattered walls, jutting his fingers outward to dip into the mess. With a low giggle he began smearing letters across the wallpaper, using his palms and forearms when he felt the need. "Mommy, mommy," he spoke, breathing against the wall. "Sally won't come skipping with me." Pressing his cheek into the gore, he answered himself, "Don't be cruel, dear..."   
  
After the message for Batman had been written, Joker shoved himself away. Curls of jade stuck to his face, mixing with the red on his ivory-colored skin. He grinned lopsidedly and grabbed at his ears, drifting off down the corridor. "...don't be cruel."   
  
"You know it makes her stumps bleed."   
  
*****  
  
Batman was notified of the situation almost immediately. He arrived fifteen minutes later, before even the forensics team had shown up.  
  
The blood was still dripping down the walls.  
  
If he hadn't been notified that the majority of it came from IV bags, he'd have been revolted.  
  
But there was still the doctor. That was tragic. The man did his job, upheld his oath, and was repaid for it all by dying in a horrible way. The question was: did he die because he did his job, or in spite of it? Was it a deliberate murder or was he just spared no mercy? The doctor who was with him survived, but that may have been coincidence. It was impossible to tell what the Joker had intended.  
  
Gordon was having trouble with it. He hadn't said anything, but he'd been smoking outside the hospital. He only did that when something really got to him. And he'd muttered something about being "too old for this shit".  
  
Maybe he was. Maybe they all were. You got dizzy when you ran around in circles for too long.  
  
He'd been questioning his place in life ever since that night at Arkham. He used to think that the Batman was something that had always been inside him, the real him in a way. Now he wondered if the Bat wasn't a product of hiding from who he really was. Masks were for hiding, right? And he couldn't communicate freely with the damned thing on. Why had he never noticed that before?  
  
He had, he realized. He just thought the walls had been deliberate. His life was a maze of walls. Scale one, and there was another, and another. Different shapes, sizes, materials, but no doors anywhere.  
  
He wasn't afraid of people though. So what were they all for? He kept people at a distance to protect them, to keep them at a safe distance...  
  
But safe from what?  
  
He pondered this as he walked through the carnage. Muffled, wet sounds replaced footfalls as he waded through the gore.  
  
When you eliminate all other possibilities, what remains, no matter how improbable, is the answer. Sherlock Holmes' mantra. So what was left?  
  
Himself. Everything else was semantics, excuses. HE was the thing that destroyed everything in his life. Those theories were right.  
  
He winced and started arguing with himself. No. That thinking was just narcissism. That argument could be made for the Joker and Harvey, but Ivy? Catwoman? Clayface? The Penguin? They had nothing to do with him. They'd exist whether he was prowling the streets at night or not.  
  
But those people didn't hurt the ones he cared about. It killed him to see Harvey Dent's personality fragmented as it was. Everything used to be so clear to the former DA. Being around him made sense. There was a very real understanding of right and wrong. The Law was something that made sense to Harvey. It was like religion. It guided him.  
  
But Two-Face was the complete antithesis of that directed passion. Things were so much easier before Dent went crazy.  
  
Was he really crazy though? Batman didn't really believe in the law. Some of it was right, and some of it was frustratingly backward. He believed in a higher justice than the legal system. So had Dent just gone from one delusion to another? People still had choices in life, right?  
  
Of course they did. Being Batman, when it came right down to it, was a choice. People might think it was a crazy choice, and there were certainly things that inspired it, but the decision to become that specific persona had been a conscious one. As was the Bruce Wayne persona that most people knew. He KNEW that facade was a calculated one.  
  
So Two-Face WAS wrong. Maybe not more wrong than Dent had been before the accident, but wrong. Case closed.  
  
The Joker was a different story. He wasn't saying there were no choices. He was saying there was no morality. Why NOT kill people, why NOT steal cars and blow things up? And the green-haired madman had been responsible for Jason's death and Barbara's paralyzation.  
  
Sometimes, when he had nightmares about his parents murder, the gunman had the Joker's face.  
  
And that laugh. That damned maddening, haunting laugh. He could picture him driving away from the hospital in the ambulance he'd stolen, smearing blood on the dashboard and upholstery, making siren noises and giggling like an idiot.  
  
He realized then that he'd covered very little ground -- he'd been doing more thinking than moving. It was a nasty habit he'd developed in the last week. He'd only made it as far as the Joker's room. He couldn't help but think that he was looking in on the scene of one of his greatest miscalculations. The blood on the walls and floor was thickest past this point -- the rest of it appeared to be splatter that escaped the epicenter of the Joker's latest 'fun'. Down a little further, there was the message Gordon had mentioned. Nonsense, he'd called it.  
  
Batman approached the scrawl of the walls with a growing ache in his gut. Gordon didn't know about the conversation here a few nights ago.  
  
When he could finally make out the words, they hit him like a freight train.  
  
'I wasn't lying.. but when you didn't come back, I changed my mind.'  
  
* 


	10. So Very Cold

Chapter 10 - So Very Cold  
  
One... one, two... three... four...  
  
"Four days," Joker spat, counting on his fingers over and over again. He turned back to the papers on his desk, pressing them across the surface with heavily placed hands. "And I can't think of a SINGLE THING!" He snatched up a few random pages of notes, ripping them into shreds before letting them fall around his body. "Nothing is coming to me! These are all old hat! They're out of the question! They're so miserably pathetic they would be something the RIDDLER would try!" He raged, turning from his pencils, erasers and notebooks to shove his chair aside.   
  
"And these damned headaches!" he continued, a tinge of pain in the tail-end of his words. As he stepped into the light of another dim bulb, a sheen of sweat was visible. There was nobody around to see it, but it was there all the same. "It's so... very hot in here." The miserable clown pulled at his t-shirt, stretching the neck out. He was winded, and slumped down to the ground.   
  
After having escaped the hospital the other night, he'd managed to find a woman, and had mugged her for her clothing. The garments fit a little too snugly, but they were better than a hospital gown. At least now, nobody could see his boxers. She, of course, went raving to the cops about it. Luckily for the Joker, she wasn't with him when he'd chosen the location for his new lair. He distinctly remembered the feeling of satisfaction when he collapsed onto the floor of his new place. It had at one time been a trendy fashion store... and was now a large, multi-leveled building with no one to care for it.   
  
The upper level had been reserved for offices, and so finding desks to sit at or paper to use had been remarkably simple. It was the food Joker was struggling with. He was injured and feeling sick... and didn't exactly feel welcomed at any corner store. He had resorted to eating next to nothing, grabbing things up when they came his way - via bums or unnattended smaller children. The only food he'd managed to eat had been the lesser half of a candy bar, a bottle of water and a few burgers from some fast-food chain. The burgers he'd saved and had lasted two days.... but they'd been cold and disgusting almost to the point of forcing him to vomit.   
  
It seemed the stitches on his chest only became more infected as the nights passed... it must be that, if anything. It was the only way Joker could explain the strange changes in his body. He'd felt so weak and out of it, struggling with himself to stay awake. And each morning was harder to respond to. He was riddled with headaches, sore in each muscle and starved for a bite of anything he could reach. Maybe it was just the hunger getting to him. Or the pain he felt in his chest.   
  
This pain was something mental rather than physical. Joker couldn't even begin to rationalize the things going through his brain, now. Everything was confusing, maddening him right to the brink. Batman had attacked him unprovoked. And then he had left just as quickly. It tore his insides apart to remember the chilled, hard metallic sound of the Batman's voice. He had been so devoid of any real emotion. That moment in the hospital had thrown Joker into a panic, tossing all he'd believed up into the air... and had let it settle in all the wrong places. The most frightening part of the entire encounter was the very second afterward.   
  
The very second he felt the room go still.   
  
He had been abandoned to lay in his hospital bed and to mourn his ill-fated decision to talk to the one man he'd obsessed over for so long. He had been laden with a sense of horror, knowing that something had ripped the moment apart... and that the moment may never occur again. There had been a connection forming between them, and the Joker knew it. They'd finally reached the bridge between their two worlds, and were standing on the boards, shaking in fear of what they had to offer one another. Joker had been more than willing to make that crossing.   
  
But the bridge was gone. Batman was gone. Everytime this fact was remembered, a torturous swelling of emotions rose inside the Joker's chest, crippling his thoughts entirely. Life was miserable. For years now they'd danced together, moving seamlessly through the nights, in arm's length but never engaged closely enough to really see each other. There had been an empty nothing between them... and for the Joker, it had started growing.   
  
This nothing had consumed him. It had pushed him harder, intensifying his need to start the dance again and again... over and over. He had risen to the challenge, devining schemes of sparratic and senseless dramatics, threatening lives and wreaking havoc as often as he could manage.   
  
Yet everytime Batman arrived, the nothing had grown. They were being distanced. Something had to be done.   
  
The night in Arkham had served exactly the purpose it had been designed to. There had been a few unexpected twists, but things had worked out for the best in the end. In those few moments of intimacy, Joker had been given the chance to see beyond the Dark Knight's tough exterior. He'd been allowed to brush minds and get closer... to seek warmth in the very source of his anguish.   
  
The Joker collapsed sideways onto the ground again. After having been exposed to the heat of the flame, he felt so very cold.   
  
He could still taste Batman's life-giving mouth...  
  
*****  
  
"Nothing!" Batman raged, pacing the Batcave like a caged animal. "How could he just disappear?!"  
  
"Maybe he's dead." Nightwing offered. It was a little wishful thinking, but it was also very possible given the situation.  
  
Batman whipped around to face him. The darkness of the glare he gave him seemed to blacken the whole cavern.  
  
"It's a possibility, Bruce." He said nervously. That look was never good.  
  
"I know that." Batman said gruffly. "But he's not."  
  
"Bruce, no one knows exactly what that virus does."  
  
"Average survival time was a month in trials." The Dark Knight went back to the computer file concerning the designer virus that had accidentally been delivered to Gotham General. The Pentagon had given him the top secret information in hopes of saving themselves a huge scandal.  
  
"That was in monkeys."  
  
"It's all we've got to go on."  
  
"Then how can you be so sure. . . ?"  
  
"Just a feeling."  
  
Nightwing shrugged and let the subject drop. He started flipping through the research notes the scientists who designed this bio-weapon had made. Nasty stuff. The symptoms listed were: Headaches, higher fever, stiffness, disorientation, muscle weakness, convulsions... death.  
  
"We know that he's still in the city, and that's he's holed up somewhere." Batman mused out loud.  
  
"And that he hasn't done the usual shtick with the toy factories or comedy clubs." Nightwing added.  
  
Batman nodded. "And he's alone."  
  
That statement hit him surprisingly hard. It was accompanied by a great deal of guilt and anger. He didn't handle mistakes well, especially when he made them. The thought that he had been so close to reforming the Joker and blew it was driving him mad. Was it possible that the whole thing was just a plea for attention? It had to be more complicated than that. . . He'd been through all this before dozens of times in the past four days. He just couldn't accept that it was that simplistic, and he knew   
that the Joker never told the whole truth about anything. There was something he was missing.  
  
And he had to find the Joker. Fast. He was concerned that if the Clown realized what was happening to him, he'd start an epidemic using his own blood.  
  
And part of him was hoping that if he got to him soon enough, he'd be able to develop a cure. But to do that, he had to find him, and he was running out of time.  
  
Come on Bruce, think like the Joker.  
  
But all he could come up with was schemes involving flowers that squirted acid, exploding whoopie cushions, giant smilie faces and other assorted foolishness. . . Maybe that was it. Maybe he didn't have to find the Joker: maybe, given the right motivation, the Joker would find him. If the Joker wanted attention, he'd give him attention.  
  
"Go home." He said to Dick. "I'll handle this."  
  
Dick's objection was drowned out by the Batmobile's engines roaring to life.  
  
An hour later, a giant smiley face lit up the sky in place of the Bat signal.  
  
*****  
  
It took all his strength, and after struggling with his limbs for what seemed like hours, the Joker managed to climb up into an old chair. He panted without knowing why, frightened that something was happening to him.  
  
How could something happen to him? He was the Clown Prince! He was the very reason Gotham locked their doors!   
  
But yet, Joker couldn't shrug the increasing discomfort he felt. What use was he if he couldn't stay upright long enough to do so much as to even plot?   
  
None.   
  
Not that it mattered.   
  
Something caught his eyes just then... a light out the window. "What in the world...?" He rose from the chair, his legs weak and ready to collapse, and then made his way to the glass pane. Outside, straight upward in the sky, shone a giant smiling face. Two simple spots and then a line beneath it, painted onto the black that hovered above Gotham. "Unbelievable," he muttered to himself.   
  
"Batman."   
  
The word was said with as much affection as one could use, lacing the syllables with a world of emotion. He repeated it again, pressing his hands into the glass as he watched.   
  
But then it vanished.   
  
And then it returned. Lingering for a while, it flashed off and on once more. Joker narrowed his eyes and tilted his head curiously as a pattern developed. On... off on off on off... on.... off on off...   
  
What was Batman doing? Was it a code of some sort? A communication...?   
  
"Ah, you clever little rodent!" he gasped. "Numbers... You're trying to tell me a string of numbers!" He giggled light-headedly and pressed his skin against the cold restraining window. The pattern ended suddenly and disappeared from the sky for a long while. Joker was concerned it would stay gone, knowing he'd only picked up on the last few numbers. But when it started again, he memorized them, dedicating them to the part of his brain that had sense left in it.   
  
Once he'd satisfied himself that he knew the code, Joker left to go lay on the floor, needing to recover from having spent so much energy. He needed to dwell for a while... to think of what this 'code' meant...  
  
*****  
  
After a lot of second-thoughts, the Joker finally worked up enough courage to leave the sanctuary of his decrepit fashion store. He muttered the numbers to himself, glancing around the empty street just outside his door. Luckily, there were no people around. No one to bother him. He stepped out onto the cold pavement - barefoot - and headed for the phone booth on the corner.   
  
*Keep going,* he whispered mentally, using the strength he'd gathered after his short rest. *You can make it. Just... a few more steps.*   
  
He tripped and stumbled, grasping a light pole on his way down, narrowly escaping a collision with the pavement. "Smooth!" he hissed. "Real smooth."   
  
Three failed attempts later, Joker reached the phone booth and grasped the metal edges, supporting his shivering and sweat-covered form. He snatched at the phone and peered at the numbers, recalling the ones that had been displayed in the sky. This had to be it. A phone number. He couldn't think of anything else.   
  
* 


	11. The Cave In

Chapter 11 - The Cave-In  
  
"Joker." The darkly spoken word came through the phone before it had a chance to ring.  
  
On the other end of the line, the Joker turned to glance around the street, pulling the door to the booth closed behind him. He was quiet, waiting for Batman to say something. Breathing heavily against the receiver, he pressed it to his ear as he slumped against the metal.   
  
"Where are you?" Batman demanded.  
  
"Pleasant as ever," Joker commented, a sickening rise of nausea overpowering the uncaring attitude he'd tried so hard to put up. "I don't... know." He glanced around the street, trying to find something he could use as to help Batman get to where he was. After another few long moments, it dawned on him that there was a sign above the booth. "Fifth and Marshall Street."  
  
"Stay there."  
  
The line went dead.  
  
A hint of a smile tugged at the corners of Joker's mouth. He hung the phone up and then slid down the side of the booth, pulling his legs up to his chin. *He's coming...*  
  
*****  
  
After five painfully slow minutes, an insistent squealing of tires from a few blocks away trickled down the street. A few seconds later, a set of headlights snaked around the corner and flew toward the Joker.  
  
"Ooooh..." Joker crawled halfway out of the booth and then laid on the ground, unable to push his body any further. He needed food and sleep... neither of which had come his way in a steady manner these last few days.   
  
The headlights came to a stop so close to the Joker that he could feel the heat of the car's idling engine on his face.  
  
The door opened.  
  
A black boot hit the ground. A cape snaked out.  
  
Batman emerged from the car.  
  
"Nice night for a drive, eh, Bats?" The Joker's voice wavered, barely lifting above a whisper. "What... what is a cute Bat doing... in a bad part of town... like this...?"  
  
Batman looked down at him, pitying him, and yet admiring the brave face he was putting on. The darkness of the cape engulfed Joker and the next thing he knew, strong arms were lifting him gently off the ground.  
  
Joker nestled his head against Batman's chest, closing his eyes. The feel of the satiny - and remarkably heavy - cape laying over his body was soothing in a way that only he could know. As many times as Robin had probably sat in the Batmobile, the boy had probably never been allowed to feel such comfort in such an intimate way.   
  
Batman tried to control his breathing as he carried Joker to the passenger side of the car, but it was still a little ragged. He couldn't stand seeing the Joker like this and feeling like it was his fault.   
  
*I'm sorry. I'm so sorry.* He thought, but when he tried to say the words, they wouldn't come. Batman settled the Joker into the passenger seat in silence.  
  
"Tired," Joker mumbled, slipping down into the seat. He raised his pale green eyes to meet with Batman's, once more remembering the flash of blue he'd seen that night.   
  
The Bat nodded and gently closed the car door. He darted around the back of the car to the driver's side, got in, and closed that door as well. He put the car in reverse, squealed it around 180 degrees, and sped off toward the Batcave.   
  
"Where are we going?" Joker asked timdly. "Please... don't hurt me again... and I don't... want to go back... to Ark..." He trailed off, laying heavily into the seat as his breathing steadied itself.   
  
"We're not going there." Batman said, his voice betraying more emotion than it usually did. "You'll like where we're going."  
  
Joker nodded and stayed quiet, trying to envision someplace he'd WANT to go. He wasn't coming up with a whole lot. Must be quite the place...  
  
"Try to sleep." Batman said, his voice surprisingly soothing. "I'll wake you when we get there."  
  
"Soun's good..." Joker turned on his side, watching Batman's arm - which was all he could see from this position - as he drifted off to sleep.   
  
*****  
  
"Joker? Joker, wake up. We're here."   
  
Batman's voice slid into the Joker's subconscious as he gently shook him, trying to wake him up. The batcave was in darkness except for the spotlight on the car.  
  
Joker grumbled in his sleep and fought to wake up, fluttering his eyes for a while before opening them. "Where's here..?" he asked groggily. "What's going on?" He couldn't remember how they'd ended up in the car together... "I thought..."   
  
"Shhh." Batman hushed. He lifted the Joker out of the car and carried him to the medical table in the cave. He removed Joker's sweat soaked shirt and started inspecting the incisions.  
  
"These are infected." He observed.  
  
"So?" Joker quickly answered. Natural urge. He had to do it. "It's cold," he then commented. Frowning, he clenched his fists.   
  
Batman grabbed some cotton swabs and disinfectant and wordlessly started cleaning the Joker's wounds.  
  
"Ow!" was hissed immediately. "Do you have to be so rough?" Joker pushed Batman's hands away and shivered all over. "My head hurts," he groaned.   
  
Surprisingly, Batman's attentions became gentler. "It's going to sting."  
  
"So don't do it," Joker snapped. "Why're you even bothering? You're just going to throw me back in Arkham anyway... it doesn't matter if I'm infected."   
  
"Not this time." Batman replied with a hint of sadness. "Not until you're well, anyway."  
  
Joker paused mid-speech, lifted his eyebrows and tried to focus his eyes on Batman's face. "What do you mean, 'until you're well'? What's wrong with me? I had my surgery and so I'll be up and running in no time." The expression on his face said very clearly that he was thinking things of a negative nature.   
  
Batman took a breath, preparing to tell him. He paused, then decided against it. If the Joker didn't know, perhaps it was better if he didn't for now.  
  
"You wanted my attention, now you've got it." He said instead. He found a few broken stitches. Those would have to be fixed.  
  
"That's not what you were going to say," Joker observed. "I may be feeling... well... down... but that doesn't mean I'm not perceptive." He narrowed his eyes and tried to sit up. "What did you mean?"   
  
"You're not going to get the medical attention you need at Arkham." Batman explained. "So you're going to stay here for a while."  
  
It was just then that Joker noticed the incredibly dark room they were in. "Where ARE we?" he asked, peering around, trying to catch a glimpse of anything besides the Batmobile. He laid down after a few seconds, feeling too weak to stay up on his elbows.  
  
A fluttering of bat wings drifted down from overhead. Batman switched on a bank of lights to reveal the cave.  
  
Joker blinked a few times and stared in awe at the cave. "So..." he giggled... "Do you uhh.. sleep here, too? I mean.. upside down?"  
  
Batman smirked. "Sometimes."  
  
"Hee! You'll have to show me how." Joker smiled and scratched at his scalp.   
  
Batman pulled the Joker's hand away from his head. "Don't do that."  
  
Joker lifted an eyebrow and let his arm go limp in Batman's hand. No sense fighting. "Weirdo. Why can't I scratch myself?"  
  
"Your skin in very delicate right now. You'll end up bleeding." Batman explained, picking up a syringe. "I need a blood sample, then I'll fix your stitches."  
  
"Oh... okay," Joker muttered. He wasn't really too sure what Batman was talking about, and as a result, his curiosity rose. "Why do you need a blood sample? It's not like I'm dying or something. I just had a surgery, is all."  
  
Batman paused momentarily, then forced himself to continue. "Widespread infection. Can't be too careful."  
  
"Why is it I don't believe you?" Joker pressed. "But... ok, if you want to play with my blood... be my guest."  
  
Batman fought down a rising anger and poked the needle into the Joker's arm. He took the blood sample and withdrew the needle. "I also think you and I need to talk." He said.  
  
Joker winced and bit his lip, glaring up at Batman. "That hurt," he whined. "What do you want to talk about? Are we going to have a sleepover? I want to do your hair if we are."  
  
"Your message." Batman said darkly from over his shoulder.  
  
"Oh." Joker ground his teeth in irratation. "That."   
  
"You always go about things the wrong way."  
  
Joker shot up on the table and snarled. He ignored the renewed throbbing in his head, blinked away his blurry eyesight and spat, "And so I suppose YOU do everything the RIGHT WAY, DON'T YOU?! You who felt it necessary to attack me while I was healing! You who left me for DAYS in that hell-hole you call a hospital!"  
  
"I left you in good hands until you killed that doctor!" Batman snarled in response.  
  
"You shouldn't have left," Joker hissed. "If you hadn't been so caught up in yourself, you would've deciphered the real meaning in what I'd said that night."   
  
Batman shook his head and turned away from the Joker again. "What hidden meaning? I can't trust you. You've proven that again and again."  
  
Joker wanted to kick and scream. He wanted to throw a fit and break everything he could find. Batman was so infuriating! "There WAS no hidden meaning, you oaf! That's what I'm trying to get across to you! You jumped to conclusions!" He turned away from Batman, his expression dark... angry.   
  
Batman whipped around in a wave of whirling cape and moved around the table to stand in front of Joker. "You actually expect me to believe that you were going to just stop? Why? For my attention? That's ridiculous."  
  
"Why is it so ridiculous to want attention?!" Joker growled, his eyes holding nothing but contempt. "I explained these things to you before! I don't feel I should have to do it again." He turned away again, refusing to look up high enough to catch Batman's stare - as surely as he was giving it.   
  
Batman sighed. "Is the offer still on the table?"  
  
Joker shrugged angrily and crossed his arms over his bare chest, shivering a little in the cold of Batman's cave. "I don't know. I'm going to have to think about it. I'm not so sure it's worth it."   
  
Batman was starting to settle into his statue-like frozen glare. "What would make it worth it?"  
  
Joker let out a soft 'hmph' and refused to answer.   
  
Batman gave up. He strode away to his lab equiptment and started preparing the Joker's blood sample for analysis.  
  
Sharply attentive eyes followed Batman's progress. Joker forced himself to his feet, wobbled a little and followed, leaning on the table next to Batman. "You," he muttered.   
  
Batman glanced over at him briefly, then went back to work. Just when anyone would assume he had forgotten about them, he said, "I'm listening."  
  
"Are you, now?" Joker growled. He sighed and leaned more of his weight onto the table, having difficulty remaining upright. "I told you already about how... how I feel. Inside." He put a thin hand over his face and rolled his eyes. "About the 'game', as I put it before. I just.. how... with Harley..." Joker made a face and shook his head back and forth a few times.   
  
"The problem with 'the game' is that you keep changing the rules." Batman said. "You've said a lot of things. I'm still trying to determine what to believe. But. . ." He took a breath. The caped shoulders rose and fell. He lifted a slide up to the light and placed a drop of the Joker's blood on it. "Nothing would make me happier than if you stopped. . . what you do."  
  
"And nothing would make me happier if I didn't have to strive to feel that way," Joker responded softly. "I need the game to stay alive, Batman. It keeps me warm." He slid down to the floor, pressing his back against the counter.   
  
Batman stiffened at the Joker's mention of warmth as he thought back to the night at Arkham. He whipped around to find the Joker was no longer on the table. He looked around frantically until he found him on the ground. Angrily, he spat, "That's because you're a psychopath!"  
  
Joker inhaled sharply, unnerved by the wrenching feeling in his chest. "What does that make you?" he demanded.   
  
Batman glared at him. "What does that mean?"  
  
"You haven't answered my question," Joker hissed. "But it doesn't matter because you could care less about what I have to say. Everything that comes out of my mouth can be written off as lies or psyocopathic dribbles."  
  
"And you're trying to tell me it's not?"  
  
Joker shot Batman a nasty glare, moving to get up from the floor. "You're a pest," he snapped. "Sometimes I wish would've overestimated you." He trudged a few feet away, haunched over - half because he was weak, and half because he was feeling mentally lousy. "Tell me, Batsy... Did you believe a single word I said that night? And tell me this... was I lying when I told you I'd stop wreaking havoc? No. I was being honest. But you don't care. Batman is always right... and there's no arguing it with you, is there?"   
  
Batman stayed quiet for a long time, mulling over the Joker's words. When he finally spoke, his voice was low, almost animal. "Which night?"  
  
Joker wheeled around to face him, shouting at the top of his lungs. "Dammit, Batman! Don't be so stupid! You know perfectly well what night I'm talking about! I didn't say anything important at the hospital, so it MUST BE the other one!" He clenched his fists and bit back against a wave of nausea.   
  
"Saying you'd give up crime isn't important?" Batman asked calmly.  
  
"No," Joker answered, his voice collected and as bland as he could make it. "Not if I don't have any reason to."   
  
Batman rolled his eyes behind his cowl. "You must have thought you had a reason."  
  
"I thought I did... yes," Joker answered, keeping his voice just barely level. If he were going to communicate with the Bat, maybe he had to speak his language. Stay calm... detached.   
  
"So it was important."  
  
"I... suppose." Joker shivered a little, giving the immediate area a quick look-over.   
  
"But you were talking about the night at Arkham."  
  
"And?" Joker grumbled. He narrowed his eyes and frowned.   
  
Batman crossed his arms. "So let's talk. No more games."  
  
Joker lifted an eyebrow, trying to read Batman's facial expression... but of course, there was next to nothing to read. He walked toward the table and made quite the effort in climbing onto it. "So talk."  
  
"Let's start over." The Dark Knight said. "For the purposes of this conversation, I'll take everything you say at face value."  
  
There was a hint of some kind of excitement on the Joker's face when Batman spoke. "Good way to start." He scratched below the stitches on his stomach and shrugged a little. He was unsure of how to begin the conversation... and hoping Batman would do it.   
  
Batman took his time choosing his words. He wasn't comfortable with this conversation, but he was tired of running in circles. "Let's start with the hospital." He prompted.  
  
"Ok," Joker answered simply. He wasn't going to make this at all easy for the Bat... this was going to be a two-sided conversation if it KILLED him. "About the hospital..."  
  
"You were going to give it all up."  
  
Joker let out a long sigh and rubbed at his eyes. Batman wasn't going to let that one drop. "The operative word in that sentence is 'were'." He folded his arms and kept his eyes low, watching the ground instead of the other man. "...And I suppose I still could. I want to. But I... need..." The last word was emphasized with a brief gesture and a change in tone of voice.   
  
The Bat took an angry step toward him. "Damn it, Joker! I said no games!" He slammed his fist down on the metal table. When he moved his hand, a fist sized dent remained.  
  
"You and your brute force," Joker spat, his voice utterly sopping with disgust. "You get angry and you act. I'm not playing games, but I'm having a difficult time telling you what I'm feeling. When was the last time you had a heart to heart with somebody? Why don't you try telling ME something that makes you uncomfortable?"   
  
"If you get a single complete thought out without jerking me around I will!" Batman snapped.  
  
If Batman paid close enough attention, he'd notice the Joker was trembling slightly, keeping up the illusion of pride even as he felt himself react out of fear. "Fine." He closed his eyes and then cleared his throat, forcing out, "I need you... in my life. I may as well repeat myself and say that you fill a void. You may be the last being a normal person would go to for comfort - being as how you tend to block off all emotion - but that's what I find when I'm with you. And it doesn't matter so much that you're slamming me into walls or throwing me over buildings. You're still who you are in those moments. The pain fades away..."  
  
Pupiless slits stared unblinking at Joker through the dark cowl. The room descended into silence, save the sounds of the bats, a faint hum of machines, and a faraway sound of dripping water.  
  
Bruce was holding his breath.  
  
He knew the Joker was telling the truth, not because they'd made a deal -- those had been broken in the past -- but because his words cut through the body armor, skin and bone to the very thing he'd be terrified all these years that someone would penetrate.  
  
The Joker's words had touched his heart.  
  
'You're still who you are in those moments.'  
  
Was it possible that the Joker, despite his madness or perhaps because of it, could see what no one else could? No one knew who he was. Even those who knew Batman and Bruce Wayne shared the same body didn't know who he was, really. He'd made sure of that. He only let people see pieces, not letting anyone understand the whole and possibly force him to deal with things he could not reconcile. He had even managed to hide from himself, bury his deepest feelings and desires and leave them in an unmarked grave. But the Joker, the JOKER of all people, had managed to dig them up the other night in that cell at Arkham. He'd seen them, felt his vulnerabilty.  
  
So let him answer the question.  
  
"Who am I?" Batman asked.  
  
"Everyone." Joker met Batman's eyes, trying his best to form coherent sentences. "You're everyone and everything to me. You're everything I lost when I was changed. You're what heats my skin and soothes my thoughts when I can't think straight." He scooted forward on the table. "You're Batman... and you're whoever it is you're hiding under that mask. And you're also a frightened torrent of emotions, waiting for someone to sort them out and put them back into place."   
  
The air was so cold. The temperature had dropped significantly, and it was a subconscious decision when the Joker rose from the table and took a few steps toward Batman.   
  
"But most importantly... and moreso than any of the rest of what I just said... you're mine." Joker dared to close the distance between them, pressing his forehead into Batman's chest. "And I still... love you."   
  
Batman's hand slowly came up and gently touched the back of the Joker's head, pressing him against his chest ever so slightly. He looked down at his hand, feeling like it belonged to someone else: he hadn't intended to do what he'd just done. Despite that, he knew it was the right thing to do. If there was anything he knew, it was pain, longing, the desire to love and be loved in return. These were precisely the things he hid behind both of the masks he wore, and yet, it was there if anyone looked hard enough to see.  
  
He didn't trust himself to speak. He hoped his slow, controlled, reassuring breathing, and the slight shifting of his fingers through the Joker's hair would be enough communication, at least until he could manage more.  
  
"Why do you have to be so quiet?" Joker asked softly. "I can... turn around if you..." He gestured a little bit with one finger, laying both hands on Batman's chest afterward. "..y'know.. if you want to take off your cowl..?" He shifted slightly, turning his face to the side so that his left cheek met with the suit. Batman's fingers in his hair sent shivers down his neck, bringing a sense of ease over the situation.   
  
"It doesn't have anything to do with the mask this time." Batman responded, holding the Joker as if the clown were a frightened child. "I just don't know what to say."  
  
Joker cleared his throat. "I don't seem to be afflicted with the same problem," he joked lightly. "I... really wish you could tell me what you're thinking." He closed his eyes and sighed a little bit, soothed by the suddenly very real scent and feel of Batman.   
  
"I'm. . . I'm sorry this didn't happen sooner." Batman stammered, feeling a dull ache in his chest over the thought that the Joker very well might be dying. What would life be like if. . .  
  
He pushed the thought away. No. He was going to live. That's why Batman had to still be careful, because in a short time, the Joker would be out tormenting him again. That's the way it had to be.  
  
"I am too," Joker mumbled. "But... now things can be different." He wasn't sure how, but he knew they had to be. This... this was so very simplistic, just being there with him... in his arms. If honesty was all it took, he didn't know whether or not the old routine would be easy to revert to. Why bother with risking the chance...? In the back of his mind, he dreaded getting better. It meant he'd be sent off to Arkham, again. There was probably nothing he could do - short of going sane - that would keep him from ending up there, again.   
  
If that happened... he would make it his goal to break out. And then what...?  
  
Batman felt the anger rising in him again; that self-defense mechanism against hope. The flash of rage broke the gentleness of the moment. He cleared his throat and let go of the Joker.  
  
"You should rest." He said, without emotion. "And I have to fix those stitches."  
  
Joker stepped away slowly, folding his arms over his chest. "Fine." His voice sounded bland, defeated... a shell of his normal edgy tone. With more effort than he cared to admit to, Joker climbed back onto the table and rolled onto his side, turned away from Batman. He shivered a little and frowned, feeling a chill pass through his skin. There was a part of him deep inside that knew he wasn't just suffering from being shirtless...  
  
Batman saw him shiver and gently covered him with a blanket, except for the area where the stitches had torn. He got the necessary surgical tools and started applying novocaine to the area.  
  
Silently, Joker allowed Batman access to his wounds. Why make it difficult at this point? He then grumbled something incoherent and watched the cowled face for anything readable.  
  
Batman gently cut away some of the badly infected tissue and repaired the Joker's torn stitches. The finished product was hospital quality. "Do you feel like sleeping?" He asked him.  
  
Joker shrugged and poked at the repaired stitches, wincing when he touched them. "I... suppose. But this isn't exactly comfortable. It's a little cold." He ignored it when his stomach growled, and went about trying to sit up.   
  
Batman put a hand on his shoulder to stop him from moving. He scooped him up and carried him over to the bed in the Batcave and sat him on the edge as he pulled back the covers. "I'll get you settled in, then I'll go get your food." He said.  
  
"You're going to trust me to leave me down here on my own?" Joker asked, laying back without having to be told to. He sighed and settled into the mattress, pushing his feet down under the sheets.   
  
"You're not going anywhere." Batman observed.  
  
"Somehow that isn't nearly as reassuring as if you'd simply said 'yes.'" Joker shrugged and pulled the sheets up to his chin. "But... I don't really need to eat right now, Batman." The look of his starved body said differently, but he reached out to touch his hand insistently. "Just stay here."  
  
Batman backed away from the bed. "I'll be back. I promise." He said  
  
"No!" Joker immediately protested. "Please...? Just... stay with me. I'd feel better if you would." He snaked a bare - and blindingly white - arm out from the sheets, patting the bed on the other side.   
  
"You need to eat, or an IV drip." Batman said darkly. "Take your pick."  
  
Joker frowned and then sighed, defeated and knowing better than to argue. "Food," he mumbled.   
  
The Bat nodded and disappeared into the river of darkness that snaked it's way through the batcave.  
  
* 


	12. A Breakthrough

Chapter 12 - A Breakthrough  
  
"DAMN IT!"  
  
The flask shattered and the pinkish liquid it contained started to drip onto the floor. Batman leaned on the table holding the now-destroyed lab equipment, his head in his hands.  
  
Another failure. He'd had nothing but failures for a week now. No combination of antivirals, antibiotics, radiation, chemotherapy or even experimental gene therapy had any effect on the Joker Virus, as the CDC had named it after he'd notified them of the Joker's infection. There had been one promising lead: A Lexcorp scientist had found a chemical that killed the virus... but it killed everything else as well. It was back to the drawing board.  
  
He had nothing. With all the favors he'd called in, with labs around the world working on this, he had nothing. And he was running out of time.  
  
He watched the liquid ooze between the curved shards of glass and drip down into a widening puddle on the floor, sinking into a non-functional stupor. He'd lost track of the last time he'd slept.  
  
Drip...   
  
Drip...  
  
Drip...  
  
The liquid tapping of the solution hitting the ground suddenly became incredibly annoying, and to stop the sound, Batman flipped over the table. Beakers, test tubes, flasks, bunsen burners, centrifuges and numerous other scientific tools crashed and shattered against the walls and floor.  
  
Batman glared at the hissing, tinkling, creaking mess like it was alive.  
  
A low rumble of weak protest rose from the bed Joker slept in, the figure under the sheets shifting and rolling onto his other side. His eyelids fluttered and squeezed closed against the dim light from across the cave, unwilling to open just yet.   
  
But then there was the crash of noise and aggressive snarls... and dull green eyes snapped open. Panic swept through his frail body.   
  
*Arkham...?!*  
  
Joker shot forward in bed, his expression charged with horror. "No!" he gasped. "Not here!" The stiffened feeling in his muscles told him to rest, but the unbalanced emotions and skewed perception of reality left Joker in a state of disorientation. He couldn't force himself to lay back down or even to do so much as move.   
  
There were padded walls surrounding him, choking him, making it impossible to breathe! Cold, cushioned walls and no windows anywhere!   
  
"Why?!" he pleaded through clenched teeth.   
  
Batman ignored the Joker's question. . . or didn't hear it. . . or his brain didn't process it. . . It didn't matter which it was, he chose not to respond.  
  
Instead, he put his foot through the underside of the table, slamming the broken wooden frame against the wall and crushing many of the glass shards to powder.  
  
"Bats?" Joker called out, struggling to cope with the sudden awakening into reality. He had been out for a good time now, completely still and not even doing so much as rising to eat. At one point a few minutes ago, there had been an IV attached to his arm. Now it hung loosely in the air, bouncing against the metal stand nearby. "Batman?" he tried again, rubbing at his eyes furiously. "Answer me..." He pushed the sheets aside and tried to find the edge of the bed.   
  
"Why's... the bed... so long...?" Joker reached out with shaking fingers, his hand going past the edge and into the air. In his mind, the sheets were still under his fingertips, but were hazy and discolored. He crawled off of the mattress and onto the hard floor of the Batcave, further confused and having trouble piecing anything together. He sat cross-legged against the bed and rubbed at his eyes and forehead, trying to regain some feeling of reality... or sanity.   
  
It was then he realized he was freezing... just as his sight blurred and then focused sharply. The cave was so bitterly cold! He frowned and hid his hands in the sleeves of his robe.... huh? "I'm wearing a robe," he commented softly. "...and, and nothing underneath." The last part was said a little awkwardly. He wasn't too thrilled about the situation at hand. Who had dared change HIM?!   
  
Oh yes... Batman. That bugger.   
  
"Batman?" he called out more loudly this time, once more realizing his predicament. Slowly, things began smoothing over and returning to normal. He could hear himself think.   
  
A smell caught his attention, as well. It was familiar... deep... soothing...   
  
Oh, the delight! The robe smelled like his favorite rodent!   
  
"What?!" Batman snapped, still riding the adrenaline and frustration fueled rage that had lead to the destruction of the table and lab equipment.  
  
"What are you doing?" Joker asked softly. "What's all that noise? It hurts my head." He frowned and peered through the darkness toward the computer and lab area... where a tall figure stood.   
  
Batman turned around. "Nothing." It took him a moment to locate the Joker. "Why are you on the floor?"  
  
"I... climbed out of bed," the clown explained slowly, not sure of the answer, either. "And since I can't find the strength in my legs to stand, I'm... I'm sitting." He gestured a little and then refocused his attention on Batman, his face changing expressions... to one of intense curiosity. "If you haven't been doing anything, then what was that noise just now...?"  
  
"Glass breaking." The Dark Knight said cryptically as he approached the Joker.  
  
"Because you broke it," Joker added pointedly.   
  
"What's your point?"  
  
Joker sighed and scratched at his hair, wincing when it hurt. "What do you think it is?" he countered, his voice unmistakably patronizing. "I want to know WHY." He shivered a little and pulled the robe tighter around his body. "Bats don't usually tend to be aggressive unless provoked. I think I read that in a magazine somewhere."  
  
"So I was provoked." Batman said, crouching down to the Joker's level and collecting him up off the floor.  
  
"How?" was the immediate response. Joker watched his self-proclaimed 'care-taker' with curious - and yet hazy - eyes.   
  
"Don't push me on this, Joker." Batman warned as he lifted the frail, green-haired man off the ground.  
  
"Have I ever... pushed you on anything...?" Joker smirked to himself proudly, feeling the tiniest bit irratated at being set back onto the bed. "How long have I been asleep?"  
  
"Almost eighteen hours." Batman responded. "I had to check to make sure you were breathing a few times. I hope you don't mind the change of clothes."  
  
"If it were anyone else," Joker warned, furrowing his brows as though he were trying to intimidate Batman. After a meaningful pause, he continued with, "...but it wasn't." He was about to let it drop when he started speaking again. Foolishly, so. "Though I must say you chose a risque outfit - or lack thereof - for me to don. Is this intentional? But before you answer... remember, you aren't allowed to hit me right now." Obviously, there were a few trust issues hanging in the air.  
  
"I didn't have any purple pajamas." Batman growled. "And another comment like that and I'm going to lose my temper."  
  
"A comment like what?" Joker asked, not really minding at the moment that Batman was being difficult. "The sexual innuendo? Or the thing about you hitting me whenever angry? Let me rephrase that: The one about you using as much force as you can muster in your body to cause me physical harm - and in some cases, nearly fatal injuries...?"  
  
Batman's hand flew out from beneath his cape and grabbed the Joker by the throat, pinning him against the headboard.  
  
"You want to know why I flipped that table over, Joker?" He spat through gritted teeth. "Because for almost four days now, I've been trying to find a cure for that little bioweapon you infected yourself with during your little party at the hospital. I'm trying to find a cure for the disease that's making it impossible for you to stand up right now, and if I can't, you're going to die! And so far, I can't!"  
  
A look of nothing more than simple pain flashed over Joker's face. "Let go of me!" he demanded, gritting his teeth against the sound rising in his throat. Weakly, he pushed at Batman's arms, his hands feeling as pathetic as that of a small child. He ended up holding his breath, having learned to be patient when put in this situation. Batman was a pattern upon himself.   
  
Batman released him. "You didn't hear a damned thing I just said." He grumbled, and fled toward the mess of broken glass and twisted metal to busy himself cleaning it up.  
  
"No," Joker instantly corrected, his voice tinged with aristocratic distaste. "I heard it. But I don't care. You don't... so why should I?" He fidgeted with his robe, tucking one part underneath the other. There was a very large part of him that didn't even really believe Batman's words. It was too unrealistic. Him? ...Dying?  
  
Batman turned slowly. Even with the cowl masking his features, in was obvious that his eyes were burning with emotion.  
  
"I haven't slept in three days." He said slowly. "How DARE you say I don't care?"  
  
Joker shrugged and picked at his nails nonchalantly. "It was bound to happen someday," he answered quickly. "If you didn't kill me, I'd do it myself." He dared to peek upward at Batman, noting the look of unchecked emotion flaring around his entire body language. This was his own way of testing... seeing where they were.   
  
With an inhuman growl, Batman leapt through the air and pounced on Joker, grabbing him by the front of the robe and slamming him into the bed.  
  
"After everything you said to me the other night, you say THAT?!" He raged, his face so close to the Joker's that his breath was moving a few green wisps of hair. "HOW. DARE. YOU?!"  
  
With each word, he slammed the Joker into the matress again.  
  
The first instinct in the Joker's brain was to fight back. He growled and struggled under Batman, twisting his body as best he could while being violently shoved into the mattress. His heart was pounding so hard he thought it would probably just give out on him at this point... and there was a very distinct feeling of dread forming in the back of his mind. What if Batman weren't lying? Could it even be possible...?   
  
After realizing the struggle was entirely in vain, he collapsed and gave in, blinking in response to Batman's breath on his face. There was far too much passion in the Bats' voice. It unnerved the Joker and seriously got him thinking. One such trail of thought was that the closeness of their bodies. It was driving him mad.   
  
"Sorry," he gasped helplessly.   
  
Batman glared at the Joker, enjoying the fear in those green eyes, letting himself be consumed by hate for the moment.  
  
"You deserve to die." He said in that quiet tone he only used when absolutely imobilized by rage. "Painfully, as far as I'm concerned. But that's not my decision to make."  
  
"Then get off me and let me leave!" Joker hissed. "I'll go find a quiet place to rot! You'll never have to do so much as LOOK at me again, if you like! I'll completely vanish from the world, and you can go on living your hellish existence... all... alone." He placed his hands on Batmans's chest and pushed. "Or at least put me back in Arkham. That way I can not only die, but I can do it in a cold place. A place that doesn't joke around about it's care for it's patients."   
  
Batman's anger died as he thought back to the night he'd spent locked in Arkham with the Joker. He nodded slowly, remembering the disheartening sound of water dripping that seemed ever-present in that dreary place. He remembered thinking that Arkham made you crazy as opposed to making you sane.  
  
Why had this never occured to him before?  
  
"That's a problem there." He said quietly. "I didn't really see it before. Do you think things would have been different had you received proper treatment?"  
  
"It depends on what you mean when you say 'treatmeant'," Joker answered, keeping his voice soft. "The only treatment I need is attention. Yours." He blinked a few times and shifted his legs a little. The room was so quiet except for their breathing. It made him feel vulnerable... a feeling he didn't enjoy, but seemed to be dealing with.   
  
Batman looked down at him.  
  
"You've had my complete attention for the last six days." He said. "Doesn't seem to have helped much."  
  
"Funny way you have of showing it," Joker spat. "You know... you say you don't think it's helped at all, but aren't we talking? Aren't we conversing on a semi-sane level?"   
  
"I've tried talking to you on a semi-sane level before." The Dark Knight pointed out, his voice level as his mind started to work on this new mystery, calming his frustrations over the one he couldn't solve. "You were more interested in shooting at me than talking at the time."  
  
"It's in the past." Joker couldn't really form an argument. Batman was right this once. "I can't tell you what goes through my mind when I pull the trigger, Bats. It... just happens. But it doesn't have to happen... ever again."   
  
"How can you say that if you don't understand why you do it?" Batman asked, sounding more sad than anything.  
  
"Can't you just try and accept what I say?" Joker tried to hide the hurt on his face. In the back of his mind, he was thinking about the news the Dark Knight had brought him. Something told him he'd never have the chance to hold a gun at arm's length... even if he ever wanted to. "I don't think I could hurt you again." The soft-spoken statement was deeply a psychological declaration... but could be applied to his physical state, as well.   
  
Batman stared at the Joker in silence. His immediate reaction was *Can you blame me?* followed by *I can't take the chance that you're lying*. But neither of those statements would do any good. And he wasn't going to tell the Joker that he wanted to believe him and give him that kind of psychological leverage, even if he WAS. . . dying.  
  
Everyone he cared about died. . . why did that thought occur to him at that moment? . . .  
  
Stop fighting it, Bruce.  
  
He'd thought that because he DID care about the Joker. He saw a lot of himself in his greatest foe. They both had the same driving madness infesting their brains... a specific madness that came from having everything around which your life was structured ripped away from you. The only difference between them was that Batman fought his madness; isolated it; used it. Joker succumbed to it. He let it use him.  
  
He now knew what to say.  
  
"I know why you kill."  
  
Joker looked upward into Batman's eyes, a frown set into place as he tried to make sense of the response he'd been given. "Why?" he asked, not daring to blink. He might miss something important.   
  
"For the same reason I don't." Batman said immediately. "Because it's so easy for you. Death is such a part of your life that you don't even think about it. That part of your humanity that's revolted at the thought of killing another person is gone. Someone or something took it, and you can't get it back. You kill because by repeating the cycle, you reconnect with humanity. You give back what was done to you. You know how much death hurts, even if it's just the death of a part of you. You've stared it in the face. And it's made you what you are. Twisted you. I don't kill because I know I could, and I'd enjoy it. It would feel right. It would be fun."  
  
He took a breath. "My rejection of that has lead me to reject many joys in life. You were right, Joker. We're the same, except for one crucial choice."  
  
There was clear unease in the Joker's eyes, reflecting the doubt running through his mind. What Batman said had made too much sense... and it made him uncomfortable. "You don't have to reject anything. You can keep your choice - your way of doing things - and still enjoy life." Joker brought his hands up and put a soft pressure on Batman's fists, hoping he'd let up on his chest a little. "I want to enjoy the rest of my life." The tone of his voice was a sort of plea, changing his mood with it. "Let me enjoy it with you."   
  
Batman's hands went weak: the Joker had resigned himself to the idea that 'the rest of his life' didn't amount to very much time.  
  
'I want to enjoy the rest of my life. Let me enjoy it with you.'  
  
It sounded very much like a dying man's last wish. How many of those had he heard? Too many if he could recognize one that quickly.  
  
And he'd never refused one. Even when the cop who investigated his parents' murder asked him to close that one unsolved case, he'd agreed. Compared to that, this should be easy. But it didn't feel easy.  
  
His fists opened and his palms rose up to rest on the Joker's shoulders. He blinked, and when he once again looked at the Joker's pale face, his emerald green eyes and bright red lips, he didn't see an adversary.  
  
He saw a victim. A victim of himself, perhaps, but a victim nonetheless. A helpless victim. Like Bruce Wayne had been the night his parents were killed. The very thing he swore to help, swore to protect, swore to never be again.  
  
In that moment, he understood: the insane freedom that he'd so envied in the Joker was just as much a curse as his unbending sense of responsibility. The mystery of tragedy was unsolvable. No matter what choice you made, you were still left broken, altered, lonely. There was no right answer. No definitive solution. No way to fix it. Things would never make sense, no matter what he did, no matter what choices he made.  
  
Lonely. So lonely.  
  
And he saw that loneliness reflected in those green eyes. The Joker had chosen differently, but had ended up in the same place. Lonely.  
  
And he was begging for Batman to take that away. He saw strength in the Dark Knight. Conviction based on a different chosen path. He seemed to want that. . .   
  
That made sense. Batman wanted to experience the Joker's anarchy, so why shouldn't the reverse be true? Could they perhaps together find a middle ground that led them out of the prison of misery that held them both captive?  
  
It was worth a try.  
  
"I'm not sure I know how." He said. "But I'll try."  
  
* 


	13. Therapy

Chapter 13 - Therapy  
  
When Bruce awoke the next evening, he checked the clock three times to make sure it was accurate. Yes, evening. He'd slept almost sixteen hours. It was almost eight o' clock. He never slept that long. . . then he remembered that he'd been playing three days of catch up. His next thought was immediately of the Joker. He'd been left down in the cave all day by himself.  
  
He raced downstairs wearing nothing but a loosely tied robe, babbled something about food at Alfred that he himself didn't understand, and headed down to the cave, keeping to the plentiful shadows until he could get the cape and cowl on.  
  
As soon as the Joker had regained consciousness that afternoon, he'd crawled out of bed and started a thorough examination of the Batcave. And even though the process was a slow one, he'd inspected the computer, the ledges and a few more unimportant places. He was intrigued by the place Batman spent his waking hours at, and wanted to know all that he could scavage on his own.   
  
But Joker couldn't stand the wait. He had sat around patiently at first... and then increasingly more impatient, he rose from his bed to seek entertainment.   
  
And entertainment he found...   
  
Sitting in the Batmobile was a fragile and barely dressed Clown Prince, holding the steering wheel in his thin white hands. "Vroom!" he growled, reaching up to pull the swiped cowl further down his face. "Stupid thing.. how DOES Batsy keep it on?"   
  
Batman watched from the shadows, finding it difficult not to laugh. Maybe it was the discussion from the night before, or perhaps it was the fact that he'd actually slept, but he found the Joker, for the first time, actually funny. Ridiculous, but funny. He wasn't even all that angry that the Joker was wearing his cowl.  
  
He slipped into the area where he kept his old suit, trying not to laugh out loud at the Joker's escapades in the Batmobile, or the "Vroom" noise that accompanied it. He slid into the old grey batsuit silently, keeping one eye on the Joker the whole time.  
  
When he was done, he engaged the Batmobile's remote starter.  
  
The car's engine roared to life.  
  
The Joker made a sort of horrified screeching noise and pulled his hands away from the steering wheel. "What in the world?!" He backed up into the seat and glanced around, wide-eyed with bewilderment. "Batman!" he accused, finally catching sight of him.   
  
Beneath the cowl, Batman's eyes danced and his mouth was tilted into a lopsided smirk. He killed the Batmobile's engine via remote.  
  
"I thought we were retiring that routine." He said lightly.  
  
Joker couldn't help but giggle in response. He reached to pull himself out of the Batmobile, but found himself having a fairly difficult time... and gave up. "You provoked me," he insisted gleefully.   
  
"You're in my car." Batman pointed out as he started toward the vehicle. "And you're borrowing my clothes."  
  
"You weren't using them," Joker answered. "And they look good on me!" He grinned and pulled off the swiped cowl, setting it in the seat beside him. As he watched the Bat approach, he tightened the tie around his waist, prepared for being picked up again. It was starting to feel normal.   
  
"Well, that's a matter of opinion." Batman said. "Come on, out."  
  
He gestured with his head for the Joker to get out of the car.  
  
"I can't," Joker whined. "Help me?" He smiled sweetly and leaned against the car door, batting his eyes a few times.   
  
"Joker." Batman said firmly, sounding a bit annoyed. "That's not funny."  
  
The playful look on Joker's face darkened a little... and his expression became serious. "Alright. Suppose it isn't. But it doesn't change that I can't get out of here on my own. It took me nearly ten minutes to get in." He folded his arms over his chest and waited.   
  
Batman noticed then that the Joker's face and neck were coated in a thin sheen off sweat, and his hair was a bit damp.  
  
"Don't do that again." He ordered, reaching down and picking the Joker up under his arms. He set him on his feet and added, "Please?"  
  
"Ok," Joker answered lowly. "Maybe. I suppose." He frowned and then headed off toward his bed, shivering against the cold of the Batcave. "Don't you have a heater downstairs...? I'm assuming this is a downstairs since I see you leaving upward."   
  
"I can bring one down. Are you cold?" The eye slits of the cowl narrowed with concern.  
  
Joker nodded a little bit and sat down on his mattress. "Yeah, I am. It was cold all day."   
  
"I'm sorry." Batman said with a hint of guilt in his voice. He turned to head back upstairs.  
  
"Wait... you're coming back, aren't you?" Joker stared after Batman accusingly, having settled down onto the bed by now.   
  
"With the blanket." Batman said, then melted into the shadows.  
  
"Ooooh, goodie!" Joker called after him. "I can't wait!" He giggled and hit his heels together a few times... and then frowned and laid down on the bed - very quickly. "Ugh... that doesn't make me feel any better."  
  
Batman forced himself to ignore the Joker's unintentional parting shot and hurried to fetch the blanket. He wondered fleetingly at how Alfred did this kind of thing all the time -- it took a specific type of patience he didn't possess. When he closed the door to the first floor linen closet after throwing its contents everywhere in a futile attempt to scrounge up a blanket, he closed the door to reveal his butler, looking perturbed and holding a blanket.  
  
"Thanks." Batman said sheepishly, taking the blanket. He glanced at the now disarrayed cupboard sheepishly. "Sorry."  
  
He was starting to get good at that word.  
  
He returned to the cave hastily.  
  
When he was out of sight, Alfred started chuckling. Shaking his head, the old butler set about straightening up the closet.  
  
The moment Batman appeared at the top of the stairs, Joker waved at him. "Hi!" he greeted. "What took you so long? Had to hand-wash it?" Another string of giggles followed immediately after.   
  
"Took a while to find it." The Dark Knight replied flatly, then started down the stairs.  
  
"Are you going to cuddle up under it with me?" Joker taunted playfully. He wiped at the sweat on his forehead and sat up in bed. "And how's about something to eat a little while later, eh? You left me down here without anything all day... remember?"   
  
*Working the guilt,* Bruce thought. *Nice. This is why you pretend not to have feelings.*  
  
"Of course." He said. "Any preferences?"  
  
"Peanut butter," Joker answered simply. He picked up the corner of his sheet and ran it over his face once. "And... hmmm... Salt and Vinegar chips. And maybe a dash of ice cream?"   
  
"Not together." Batman stated, hoping that the Joker hadn't meant all at once. He pushed the frail man's hands down slowly to stop him from using the sheet as a sweat band.  
  
"Why not?" Joker pouted and snatched the sheet back up into his hands. "I think it tastes exquisite! And have you ever even TRIED it? Don't judge a book by it's cover, Bats." He gathered up more of the sheet into his lap - for the sole purpose of irratating the other man.   
  
"Do what you want." Batman muttered, looking the Joker over. He was now more concerned by the Joker's physical state than what he wanted to eat. "I'm getting you a change of clothes, and you should clean yourself up: sweat isn't good for already infected wounds."  
  
"Clean myself up?" Joker asked. He snickered and shook his head a few times. "Nevermind. I won't make you angry. I just won't say anything." He closed his mouth and held both hands out for the blanket.   
  
Batman tossed the blanket at him and hit the Joker in the face with it. He allowed himself a momentary smile.  
  
Joker pulled the blanket down and glared with a hint of gentle humor to it. He wrapped it around himself and then settled into the bed, pulling his legs up to fold them neatly. "You sure you aren't cold, too?" he asked softly. "Must be chilling running around in that silly costume."   
  
"Actually, quite the opposite." Batman answered, grabbing the cape and holding it up. "Thermal."  
  
"So take it off." More giggling. "You know you want to."  
  
"You just said it's cold in here. I think I'll leave it on."  
  
There was a long pause where the look on Joker's face said he was arguing with himself mentally. He pursed his lips to say something, paused... stayed silent a little longer, and then decided on speaking. "I'll keep you warm." He grinned darkly and opened one side of the blanket.   
  
Batman sighed. "Why do you have to keep going back there?" He complained.  
  
"I don't HAVE to," Joker immediately stated. "But I like doing it. So I do." He patted the bed. "C'mon... don't be such a bay-bay. Sit down for a while. You stand entirely too much."   
  
"Fine." Batman said, then sat on the bed by Joker. He was obviously getting annoyed.  
  
"Good little rodent," Joker purred. He grinned and offered the blanket yet again. "It's warm under here... Or are you going to be all Mister Big-An'-Tough, tonight?"   
  
Batman looked up at the ceiling. "You're not making this easy."  
  
Without so much as a second thought on the matter, Joker leaned against Batman and sighed. He closed his eyes and pulled the blanket up around his chin. "This is so much nicer... it being just us for once, I mean. Without the sparrow or whatever around."  
  
Batman stiffened. He couldn't help but be reminded that the Joker had killed the previous Robin.  
  
"Let's not talk about that." He said. *Or I might remember that I hate you.* He thought.  
  
"'Kay. That's fine with me! So what DO you want to talk about?" Joker tilted his head to look up at Batman, giggled and then fell over backward onto the bed.   
  
Batman sighed and lowered his head thoughtfully. After a moment, he spoke.  
  
"Us, I suppose." He said, using that phrase to deliberately pique the Joker's interest. "Where things go from here."  
  
"Why, no place, of course!" Joker shot back. His words were meant to sting... to harm. "Green-haired clown equals dead green-haired clown in a few days... 'member?"   
  
But then suddenly he sat upright and grabbed Batman's arm. "No, no... I didn't mean that. I - crud. That isn't what I meant to say. Honestly. Sorry." He winced and hoped the Bat wouldn't hit him for his brash mistake. "It's just... that it's been on my mind, is all."   
  
Batman nodded almost imperceptably.  
  
"I know the feeling." He said. "I've had too many people die. . ."  
  
He swallowed hard, unable to continue. He was so divided inside he felt like he was going to shatter into a thousand pieces. Unable to handle his feelings, he forced his emotions into hiding and looked for something to engage and distract his brain. He found it looking down at the Joker.  
  
"You need to get cleaned up." He said.  
  
"No, I don't," Joker argued, pulling himself further onto the bed. "I'm perfectly fine the way I am."   
  
"Joker." Batman said sternly. He stood up, found some waterproof tape and some gauze, and returned to the bed, intent on waterproofing the Joker's wounds.  
  
Joker's grin faded slowly, turning into a defeated pout. "Fine," he grumbled.   
  
Batman started tearing off strips of tape, then realized he should disinfect the areas before dressing them. He quickly swooped over and grabbed some alcohol and cotton balls, then returned to the Joker. He soaked a cotton ball with alcohol and started to swab a wound on the Joker's arm.  
  
"Ow!" Joker whined. "Gawd! Don't be so eager to cause me pain!" He tugged his arm, trying to pull it out of Batman's grasp.   
  
Batman paused just long enough to give him one of Those looks, then went back to tending to the stitches.  
  
"Jerk." After that, Joker waited patiently while Batman continued. His resistances were getting less and less a problem... as he was giving in so easily.   
  
Batman finished disinfecting the gash on the Joker's arm, then laid a patch of gauze over it. He covered that with waterproof tape.  
  
"You can shower without effecting the stitches this way." He explained matter-of-factly.  
  
"Hmph," Joker answered. "I s'pose." He inspected the gauze immediately afterward, pulling at it in a few different places. "It feels weird," he complained.   
  
"It's better than the alternative." Batman responded with a hint of a smirk. He turned over the Joker's arm to expose his wrist and saw a trail of burn marks on the white skin of his pale forearm.  
  
The smirk vanished. "What are these?" He asked sharply.  
  
Joker leaned forward to inspect the burn marks, placing his free hand over his chin thoughtfully. "Those... Hmmmm..." He poked at them a bit and then exclaimed, "Oh yes! I remember, now! I do believe that was when the doctors felt I was being dangerous. Y'know... the last time you threw me into Arkham. They have these ghastly ways of determining when I'm being dangerous. Anyway, those are what was left behind when they used electroshock 'therapy' on me."   
  
"I didn't think they used those techniques anymore." Batman said, obviously containing a violent flash of anger.  
  
"Oh, all the time!" Joker raised both arms into the air, having wriggled out of Batman's grasp. "I'm their favorite patient because they can shock me all they like and not get into trouble for it!" He pulled the robe up his legs to show a particularly nasty place on his thigh. "Check this sucker out. For drawing on the walls! Would you believe it?!" He shook his head and chuckled a little... but then grew serious. "Kinda hurt."   
  
Batman leaned in to inspect the scar on the Joker's leg. He ran two fingers over it and a feral growl escaped his throat. It seemed he had a new enemy.  
  
Joker smirked. "That tickles. So does... er, nevermind. You're angry enough as it is. I won't get into it." He frowned and picked at the gauze on his arm, thinking about what he'd been GOING to say.   
  
"They're not going to get away with this." The Dark Knight vowed. Reluctantly, he went back to dressing the Joker's wounds, but his eyes kept wandering back to those burns on the chalky white skin.  
  
Joker smiled contently and allowed his 'friend' access to his injuries. "Good. They deserve it... what with the way I'm treated there. Really, Batsy... hadn't you noticed the way they deal with us in there? I get beatings almost every night. You don't think the ONLY reason I break out is to get to you, do you? A man wants to keep his pride, y'know. And I'm not the only one in there that gets that kinda 'help'. You should've SEEN what they did to Double Ugly last time he came in!"   
  
*Harvey,* Bruce though, his heart breaking at the thought of his former friend being tortured.  
  
"What did they do?" Batman asked in a deep monotone.  
  
"Just a game," Joker answered. "The rules are simple. Whichever guard can cause the most damage in a single blow gets whatever money was pitched in." He smirked. "I've only had to participate in that one a few times, thankfully. But then... oh, sometimes they'll egg him on, y'know...? Give him nickles an' stuff... make him answer complicated questions and then confuse him an' stuff. It WOULD be funny... 'cept I hate those guards. And they like those cattle prods they carry around. Really nasty stuff, Bats. You being a sadist? You'd LOVE it in there. Mmmmm... or maybe not. I dunno. You like that whole dark freedom rooftop thing, right? Nah. You'd hate it, then. Oh, and you know how we're supposed to get a half an hour outside each day? Ha! Forget it! We stay in our cells twenty-four TEN!" Rambling was something Joker was good at... especially if it meant gaining attention.   
  
"Twenty-four seven." Batman corrected, not knowing what else to say. He was disgusted by what the Joker was telling him, and had determined he had to find out for himself. A plan was starting to form as he taped up the last wound he could see.  
  
"Okay." He said. "You're set."  
  
"Seven. Right." Joker glanced from the gauze up to Batman... and asked, "Set? What am I set for?"   
  
"You need to take a shower, or a bath. Whichever," Batman reminded him.  
  
"Oh, yes... that's right. I want a bath, then." Joker nodded once and the struggled up to his feet.   
  
Batman sighed. He was afraid he was going to say that. There wasn't a bathtub in the batcave. This was going to require taking him upstairs.  
  
"I'm going to have to blindfold you." He told the Joker.  
  
The clown shrugged. "Could be worse."   
  
* 


	14. A Time Out

Chapter 14 - Time-Out  
  
Batman bent over quietly and tore a wide strip of fabric off the bedsheet. He folded it over a few times, then tied it around the Joker's face, making sure the shrewd green eyes couldn't see anything.  
  
Without bothering to speak, he scooped the Joker up and headed for the stairs. He noticed this time how light the waifish body was becomming... how little there was to actually hold onto.  
  
Joker giggled every few steps, folding his arms over his chest. He resisted peeking, knowing it would only serve to enrage the somewhat calm Batman. So instead, he busied himself by humming, leaning into the strong arms that carried him.   
  
Batman carried him up to the door the led into the mansion and paused. This was a huge risk. And the thing that scared him was that part of him -- a very large part -- wanted the Joker to figure it out. But he couldn't bring himself to tell him.  
  
It wasn't unlike many of the women in his life, he realized. How odd.  
  
With that thought, he passed through the door into Wayne Manor. He carried the Joker through the study and out into the hall, where Alfred had just finished rearranging the linen closet. The old butler turned to him with his trademark world weary expression on his face. It quickly changed to one of surprise.  
  
Bruce shook his head. *Not a word.*  
  
Alfred noticed the blindfold and rolled his eyes. *Is all of this really necessary?*  
  
Bruce glared. *Yes, it's necessary.* He looked upstairs.  
  
Alfred nodded, then sighed at the melodrama of the situation and headed up the stairs ahead of Bruce.   
  
In a whiny voice, Joker asked, "Are we there, yet?" He squirmed a little bit, pulling his robe more tightly around him. "The air is warmer up here... and are those footsteps I hear ahead?" He giggled softly.   
  
"I invited Robin over, since you like him so much." Batman snapped, hoping that would shut the Joker up. He jerked his head toward the Master Bedroom. The ensuite didn't have a window that looked outside, just a frosted glass panel that really led nowhere. The butler nodded and opened the door.  
  
"Hello, birdie!" Joker greeted, waving at the air blindly. "Awful quiet today, are we? Je-" He cut himself off, realizing he was very quickly getting wound up over something Batman was probably lying about, anyway.   
  
Alfred arched an eyebrow at the Joker as Batman carried him through the bedroom into the bathroom. What a strange little man. He hardly seemed dangerous, although the old man knew better. He mouthed the word "enjoy" and started to close the door.  
  
"Get out!" Batman snapped, irritated at Alfred's ever present sarcasm.  
  
The door closed.  
  
Joker winced and made a face, bringing his hand up over Batman's mouth. "Shhhh... You'll scare the bird away!" He smirked and then shrugged, continuing with, "Ehhh, I suppose he already left, though... didn't he? So ummm... where are we now? Oooooh... I'm so excited! I love new places!"   
  
Batman set him down and locked the door before removing the blindfold.   
  
A softly lit, tranquil bathroom was revealed. The color scheme was predominantly earth tones, with a few accents of Oriental red and black here and there. A deep, irregularly-shaped whirlpool bathtub dominated the spacious room, set against a custom-built frosted glass shelving unit which hinted at books behind the translucent panels broken up by Asian-style natural wood slats. Short polished granite steps led up to the mouth of the tub, the custom-made module a sand color with hints of black, brown and rust. The edges of the steps were left rough, giving the whole thing a natural, effortless appearance.  
  
The nearby towel racks and forced air vents were also unstained wood, intricate carvings snaking along the surfaces. The shower stall was almost hidden from view in the corner, the front panel connecting the walls almost seamlessly.  
  
The sink and counter were made of the same granite material as the casing of the bathtub, and the faucets were an unobtrusive unpolished chrome. The towels and terry robes that hung from the walls at sat on recessed shelves were plush and soft-looking.  
  
The whole room radiated calm.   
  
"Ooooh! C'est si à l'aise" Joker exclaimed. "Somebody has a few dollars saved... am I right?" He leaned on the sink and took in the room's appearance, part of his brain instantly searching for clues on who Batman was hiding behind his cowl. He moved forward a step and smiled, taking in a deep breath. "I must say I'm impressed, dearest. Very tasteful. Had I a permanent address - not including my cell block - and the money for it, I'd want one of these."   
  
"Make yourself at home." Batman said, feeling very strange, although thankful he didn't sound as uncomfortable as he felt. This room wasn't supposed to be part of the Bat's domain, but it was unavoidable.  
  
He couldn't help but feel like it was a start of something, a blurring of the lines he'd so carefully traced for himself. He didn't mind the idea: it was a promise of cohesion.  
  
"But of course," Joker replied, already headed to inspect the bathtub. He hadn't been waiting for permission; he didn't feel he needed any at this point. The steps were a bit of a struggle, but he managed. "Something tells me this is YOU," he commented softly. "It feels right. I get the idea that this is where you come to relax... like after you beat me up and throw me in Arkham. Y'know?" He flashed an innocent smile over his shoulder.   
  
"Actually I usually shower downstairs and fall asleep wherever I drop." Batman responded, not confirming or denying the Joker's suspicions. "What does it matter who *I* am?"  
  
"Hmph." Joker rolled his eyes and then sat down on one of the steps. "You're trying to be difficult, aren't you? I thought we were trying to play nice for once. Seeing as it's going to be the last time we ever 'play'." He folded his arms and leaned forward, resting on his knees. "It matters to me who you are. I care about it."   
  
Batman winced and lowered his head a little. That comment had penetrated his defenses. The Joker wasn't allowed to. . . stop playing. Not now.  
  
"The man you know is the man you see." He said quietly.   
  
"Wrong. The man I know is a mix of both, whether or not you choose to accept it." Joker stared at him intensely. "The one I can see is the dominant of the two, but... they're both still there. And anyway, I don't want to argue at the moment."   
  
"You started it." Batman said, sounding a little sulky.  
  
"Oh, c'mon, Batsy! Don't be a party-pooper, alright?" Joker held out his arms invitingly and beckoned for him with his fingers. "I promise not to mention that I'm dying if you can promise to try and relax."   
  
"I get the feeling you want to die." Batman said, not really latching on to the whole concept of trying to relax. "That bothers me."  
  
"Fine," Joker mumbled, dropping his arms. He ignored the statements, turning to lean on the tub. Folding his arms, he scratched at the surface, blatantly upset and pretending to be bored.   
  
Batman sighed, headed over to the tub and turned on the taps, ignoring the Joker's snit.   
  
Joker watched patiently, poking at the water as soon as it filled the bottom. "I don't want to die."  
  
"Then stop talking like it's an immediate eventuality." Batman snapped. However, it was more of a nagging outburst than an angry one.  
  
Joker immediately snarled, "Are you the one dying?! Are you the one stuck wondering how many days you have left?! Answer that, Batman! I'll talk about it however I like!"   
  
Batman froze. The Joker had a point. He could understand the anger and the helplessness.  
  
"I've been there." He said seriously. "There have been times I thought I was going to die, times I should have died, and times I wanted to die. But I'm still here."  
  
"No kidding," Joker giggled. He couldn't help it. It just came out. "You're a hard rodent to exterminate. I know. I've tried." He winked and batted at the water, feeling a world better after the Bat's confession. "But I'm happy you're still here. You know I was joking, don't you? That I tried? Because I wasn't."  
  
"You weren't trying or you weren't joking?" Batman asked, watching the Joker intently.  
  
Joker winced and ran the question through his mind several times. "What?" He raised an eyebrow and then cleared his throat. "I was joking about trying, dear. Pay attention." The words were said with a light smirk.   
  
Batman had the urge to hit the Joker for the first time that evening. He'd been doing fairly well up until that point. He watched the tub filling, trying to fight off his violent tendencies. The sight gave him an idea.  
  
With a quick swat of his hand, he smacked at the water, splashing the Joker -- and a large portion of the floor -- with a small tidal wave of water.  
  
There. He felt much better.  
  
"Hey!" Joker protested, raising his hands to block the water already all over him. "You jerk!" he shouted half-heartedly... and then started laughing. With a quick movement, he returned the splash, aiming for Batman's face.   
  
Batman leapt out of the way of the water and smirked at the Joker. "Missed me."  
  
He almost stuck out his tongue. . . how odd.  
  
"I won't this time!" Joker splashed again, hitting his palms in the water's surface as it rose. He started a tidal wave and then pushed it up out of the tub, sending a great amount of water everywhere.   
  
"Damn it!" Batman snapped, his voice slightly annoyed. Ignoring the feeling of warm water soaking through his suit, he grabbed for one of the towels and dropped it onto the floor.   
  
"I made a mess," Joker giggled. "Oops!" The tone to his voice said he didn't really care. Besides, he couldn't help but laugh at the sight before him... a wet Bat going to clean up the floor. Priceless.   
  
Batman scowled and threw a towel at him.  
  
"And you're going to help clean it up." He grumbled. It was now dawning on him that the entire front of his suit was soaked and was sticking to him, making his skin feel clammy. The situation reminded him of a few too many showdowns in the sewers with his old uniform.  
  
Joker dropped the towel onto the floor and stepped on it. "There. Loosen up and learn to play a little, will you? Come on, we were having fun just two seconds ago."   
  
"And then you flooded my bathroom." Batman grouched, getting down on his knees to try to stop the water from leaking under the door and into the carpet in his bedroom. Meanwhile, he was chastising himself for ever bringing the Joker up there in the first place. It had been a stupid, sentimental idea.  
  
Joker pouted and slid down onto the floor. He sat in the puddle - soaking his robe - and stared intensely up at Batman. "I apologize."   
  
Batman looked up.  
  
"Excuse me?"  
  
Joker folded his arms and repeated slowly, "I said I apologize. I'm sorry. I made you angry."   
  
Batman looked at him suspiciously.  
  
"Apology accepted." He said, despite his reservations. "Now are you going to take a bath?"  
  
"Maybe." Joker shrugged and made no move toward the tub, or getting up at all.   
  
Batman growled softly. "I'm tired of this."  
  
He stood up, grabbed Joker under the arms, and plopped him in the tub.  
  
"HEY!" Joker reached out to grab something, but was too late. Before he realized it, he was drenched and still wearing his robe. Angrily, he sat where he was dropped, glaring at Batman with horrified flashes of emerald. "I can't believe you just did that."  
  
"Nothing is beneath me." Batman grumbled humorlessly as he stalked away, grabbing another towel on his way back to the mess on the floor. He crouched down, then looked over his shoulder to check on the Joker. When he saw the look on the Joker's face, he couldn't help himself. . .  
  
He laughed.  
  
"You look ridiculous." He pronounced.  
  
"It's your fault," Joker answered. He pouted, folding his arms over his chest - and still neglected to peel away the robe.   
  
Batman grinned. "Another job well done." He teased.  
  
"Are you making a funny?" Joker asked lightly. "Because it's a nice change of pace." He gave up pretending to be upset and let his arms slide down into the water.   
  
"You were scowling, so I figured I'd balance things out." Batman said flippantly.   
  
"Hmmmm... well, now that I'm fine, again, you aren't allowed to return to being grumpy, kay? Because I might just splash more water over the side, otherwise." Joker grinned and then looked around the rim of the tub. "I want bubbles."   
  
Batman snorted and shook his head as he stood up.  
  
"Bubbles, huh?" He asked. "Let me see what I have."  
  
He opened a cabinet and searched through various bottles and jars. Near the back he found a bottle of lavender bath. . . stuff a business associate had send him. . . and everyone else for Christmas.  
  
"Ah ha." He said as he extracted the bottle. "Look, it's even purple."  
  
He held the container out for the Joker's inspection.  
  
"How exciting!" Joker waited patiently for Batman to pour it in, clapping his wet hands over the water.   
  
Batman paused, then realized the Joker was suddenly incapable of opening a bottle. He sighed and popped the lid open, and poured the contents under the stream from the tap. The tub started filling with bubbles.  
  
Joker began giggling excitedly, pushing the bubbles around the water's surface. "Now you get in! C'mon!"   
  
Batman shook his head.  
  
"No." He said firmly.  
  
"Please?"   
  
"Joker."  
  
Pretty emerald eyes were batted pleadingly.   
  
A dark cowled head shook decisively.  
  
Joker frowned, determined to MAKE the Bat get in. "Fine... but let's see how long I can hold my breath!" He laughed and fell over backward, the sound drowned out by water filling his mouth.   
  
"JOKER!" Batman bellowed. He leapt up the steps and knelt at the edge of the deep bathtub, fishing around frantically for something to grab and pull out. He knew the Joker wasn't bluffing -- he was crazy enough to drown to spite him. His fingers caught on something and he fished it out.  
  
It turned out to be just the robe. What were the odds the Joker had undone it? No time to think about that now.  
  
He plunged his hand back in again and grabbed the Joker by the hair.  
  
Thin white hands latched onto Batman's arm, pulling him further into the water. Joker was doing a great deal of making things difficult, letting a few air bubbles rise to the surface... just for fun's sake.   
  
"Damn it Joker, this isn't funny!" Batman swore, stepping into the tub for greater leverage.  
  
Inwardly, Joker congratulated himself. He could feel the displacement of water as the Bat joined him inside the tub... and quickly developed a plan. As fast as he could make his weakened body move, he sat up in the tub, sending a crash of water toward Batman.   
  
* 


	15. Caught In A Whirlpool

Chapter 15 - Caught In A Whirpool  
  
Batman had just enough time to realize that the Joker had gotten the better of him again before falling backward into the bathtub. His lower back hit the tap on the way down and he gritted his teeth against the pain. He sat very still, waiting for the pain to subside, knowing that it wouldn't anytime soon.  
  
Joker was laughing and spitting up water, happy with himself for the moment. He had finally succeeded in do - *What's this?* he interrupted himself mentally. "Are you alright?" he asked softly, his smile vanishing completely. Scooting forward, he sat up on his knees.   
  
Batman didn't say anything. He was too busy gritting his teeth and inwardly berating himself for being a party to a bad slapstick routine.   
  
"Batsy, dearest?" Joker reached out and dared a quick poke to the forehead. "I asked you a question. C'mon... I've shot you several times, now. You can handle a little bump, right?" He scooted closer, again... but his eyes weren't malicious. They were concerned.   
  
"Back. . . broken. . . Didn't. . . heal right. . . Weak spot." Batman's hands dug like claws at the sides of the tub as another spasm tore at his back.   
  
Joker's eyes went wide, filled with horror as the realization struck him. The Bat was really hurting, and it was his fault. "Weak spot? When did this happen?" he asked, reaching forward... to do what? He paused with his hands in the air, unsure of what he'd been moving to do. It wasn't like him to give a shit about anyone but himself, and he was mildly surprised to see his arms outstretched in front of him.  
  
He knew he cared about Batman... but to get so worried?   
  
The clown moved to pull back, but then stopped again when he caught the look of pain on the other man's face. "Don't hurt," he pleaded softly, sitting down at Batman's right side. He hesitantly reached underwater to touch the spot he assumed was in pain, spreading his fingers over the area.   
  
"Don't." Batman snapped. "Just. . . give me a minute." After taking a moment to grind his teeth against renewed agony, he managed to spit out, "Bane."  
  
Joker backed off, laying his hands in his lap to avoid further upsetting Batman. He watched carefully, and then repeated, "Bane?" ...*Bane did this?* A rage trickled into his mood and built up slowly. "Is that why you went missing for so long? You didn't think I wouldn't notice, did you?" He snarled and clenched his fists, swearing mentally that if he lived long enough, he would have the bastard's head on a platter.   
  
Batman nodded. "Eventual replacement. . . Mistake. . . Had to come back."  
  
If he'd been thinking, he wouldn't have said that, but the momentary distractions helped, even though it hurt to talk.  
  
Joker fell silent, mulling over Batman's words. He had been planning on letting that idiot replace him? He'd been willing to just give up his crusade? Joker felt cheated, somehow. He moved away a little and leaned on the tub.   
  
"Had to relearn everything. . . broken. . . spirit broken. . . not like you. . . my fault. . ." Batman groaned. The waves of pain were lessening, but the longer they continued, the harder it was to cope.  
  
"The Bat can't BE broken," Joker responded without thinking. "Or you wouldn't be here right now. The Bat was merely licking his wounds." He decided he didn't really care if he was hit for it, and closed the space between them.   
  
"You did it." Batman replied gravely. The pain had diminished to a managable level, and he set about trying to catch his breath.  
  
Those three simple words struck Joker hard, and left him with mingled feelings over the subject. "If that's so... then I fixed you, as well." He wanted so much to relive the night at Arkham... to rewind to when Batman had been so vulnerable. It had been exhilerating and terrifying all at once. Joker sighed and leaned forward, nestling his head against Batman's shoulder. "I don't think it was such a bad thing for you to have experienced. I like you better, now."   
  
"Maybe." Batman said, looking down at the Joker's head. He normally would have shoved him away, but he couldn't move quite yet.  
  
Joker reached out and batted at the bubbles for a while, completely forgetting that he was supposed to be washing himself. "So..." He started building a mountain, dripping the bubbles off of his fingertips onto the 'peak'. "Just how many Robins do you go through in a week, anyway?"  
  
Batman growled.  
  
"What was that? Ten?" Joker giggled and shifted against the Bat.   
  
"Stop it." The mood in the room turned to ice.  
  
"Nu-uh." Joker pushed the tower of bubbles over and continued with, "Do you keep them around your house? Is it kinda like a kiddie center... only where they fight crime instead of being adopted?" He sat up and looked at Batman very seriously, as though he had no conception that he was being a jerk.   
  
"No." Batman said. "Only one of them lived with me. The current Robin lives with his parents." That was vague enough.  
  
"So there have been three, now? Only?" Joker narrowed his eyes and looked off to the side, thinking very intently on the subject. "What about the other one? The one... you don't have around, anymore..."   
  
"You killed him. End of story." Batman shifted upward a bit. As soon as he recovered enough to stand up, he was getting out of there.  
  
"He must've lived SOMEwhere," Joker insisted. "He didn't live with his mommy... that much is certain. What about the one that lived with you...? Why? Why would he live with you? He isn't your son, is he?"   
  
"Why do you care?" Batman dodged. "'Cause he's the one who's come closest to killing you?"  
  
"No. Because he's connected to you."   
  
"Leave him out of it."  
  
Joker frowned and splashed the water a little. "You have a soft spot for birds," he grumbled. "But about the Todd boy... did you have a funeral?"   
  
"Yes." Batman responded darkly. "What does that matter?"  
  
"I was just asking," Joker said innocently. He recognized the pattern here - talk about Robin, make Batman angry. It wasn't one Joker was enjoying... but he was so curious. And so very intent on making things different between them. "I suppose that since we're trying to be honest with each other, I should tell you that I... regret that day."   
  
Batman sat up, the pain in his back forgotten. "You'd better not be joking." He warned menacingly.  
  
Thoughtfully, Joker watched Batman for a good few moments. He considered the manner in which the Bat had responded, evaluating the emotion in his eyes. Tenderly, he whispered, "I apologize for the loss of the boy. Given the chance, I wouldn't do it again."   
  
Batman glared at him silently for at least five minutes, trying to determine if he believed him. The Joker had been on a truth streak lately.  
  
Finally, he spoke.  
  
"You used to be so proud of it. What's changed?"  
  
"Us." Joker poked a finger into the water and twirled it around, watching the bubbles follow. "I know how I feel about you and everything that's ever happened. And anything I've done to hurt you I regret. Write a book about it if you want to, but for the first time in as long as I can remember, I'm afraid. And I don't like it. But there's no avoiding it. I'm dying finally, and I... I can't tell myself... that I don't deserve it."   
  
Joker turned around and headed for the edge of the tub, disinterested in actually bathing at this point. He wanted to go back down to the cave and curl into a corner where he could just be alone.   
  
Batman nodded, then pulled himself out of the tub with effort.  
  
"It's not up to us to decide who deserves to live and who deserves to die." He said, trying to be somewhat comforting. "We're not gods. And I know gods, and even they can't always make that decision."  
  
Joker's face clearly said he wasn't interested in furthering the conversation. He waited until Batman was out and far enough away from him before climbing out of the tub. He snatched up a towel and wrapped his lower half up in it. "You think I deserve to die. That's all that matters. Take me back downstairs."   
  
Batman didn't move.  
  
"I didn't mean that." He said, ignoring the fact that he was soaking wet. "I was angry."  
  
"You're always angry. You're angry right now. You meant it as surely as I'm standing here. Now take me downstairs."  
  
Batman sighed. "If that's what you want."  
  
He headed past Joker to grab another towel.  
  
*It isn't what I want,* the white-skinned man tried to say. He parted his mouth and made a soft noise, trying to force the words out. But he found that he couldn't.   
  
He couldn't say a word.   
  
All Joker could do was stand there, shivering while Batman went for another damned towel. He curled his arms around his body and crouched down slightly, feeling absolutely miserable. He tried convincing himself it was because of his illness... but whatever the case was, when the Bat turned around, he would see the slightest hint of tears in half-closed green eyes.   
  
Batman turned around soon enough. He noticed the Joker's lips were slightly purple, and that he was shivering. He took the towel in his hand and wrapped it around the Joker's shoulders, pulling it tightly around him. He didn't say a word, but his gaze was just intense enough to show he cared.   
  
The Joker was quiet, trying to keep his eyes downward. Why bother saying thank you? Why bother commenting on the fact that Batman was quite the looker in a damp suit? Why bother doing anything? He never seemed to find the RIGHT thing to say. Maybe if he didn't speak ever again, Batman would stay gentle as he lived out his final days.   
  
He didn't seem to notice it when his body leaned into the gesture.   
  
Batman felt the Joker's cheeks. Even through his gloves, it was obvious that he was far too cold.  
  
Cold. Like the floor at Arkham.  
  
He flashed back to that night, remembering the strangest little details, like how it smelled. You weren't supposed to be able to remember smells. . .  
  
A strange vibration snapped him back to reality. He looked down, and realized that he was holding a shivering Joker against him, his hand pressing the shorter man's head against his chest.  
  
Of course. Basic first aid: keep the patient warm.  
  
Right. That was it.  
  
* 


	16. Playtime

Chapter 16 - Playtime  
  
By 3:00 PM the next day, Alfred had gotten tired of waiting for Bruce to emerge from the Batcave. He had a morbid bet going with himself that Batman and the Joker would end up killing each other before this whole thing was said and done -- it was a way of stopping himself from worrying. He'd gotten good at that over the years.   
  
But this one time he couldn't help himself. Couldn't avoid 'interfering' as Bruce would undoubtably see it. But SOMEONE had to keep things sane around here, and Alfred Pennyworth was the only one with a hope of doing that.  
  
Two sets of clean clothes, breakfast - more like lunch - and a change of sheets for the bed made the trek into the Batcave long and tiring. Alfred shook his head when he saw what a mess the place was: Bruce had never been capable of picking up after himself. . . and what in God's name had happened to the scientific equipment?  
  
It was with relief that he heard no signs of anyone else moving around in the cave. The master was likely out or still asleep, and the Joker was probably still sleeping, too.  
  
His suspicions were confirmed when he looked into the alcove where the bed was located.  
  
Dear. Sweet. Lord.  
  
Batman and the Joker were still asleep all right. Together. Curled UP together. He supposed it was better than them being dead.  
  
Nonetheless, he stared in disbelief and with a bit of revulsion as he took in the scene.  
  
Batman was lying on his back above the bedcovers, his expression more serene than Alfred had seen it in a very long time. On top of him lay the Joker, green curls spilling across the Bat symbol on his chest. The Joker's arms were spread wide in what looked like an embrace around Batman's shoulders, but his arms barely made it around that wide upper body.  
  
Alfred always remarked that it was amazing he fit through doorways.  
  
The cape of Batman's costume was cocooned around them, wound tightly as if they had rolled over each other a few times. Alfred didn't want to speculate as to whether that's what had happened.  
  
Without a word, and with eyebrows that were almost flying off his head, the butler turned and went back upstairs.  
  
The very instant Alfred closed the door at the top of the stairs, the Joker stirred and pulled himself awake. He registered the smell of food first, delighted to be greeted by such a thing. But when he moved to get up, he found himself restrained. But by what? Another second passed as Joker drifted in and out of consciousness, taking his time in remembering last night.   
  
His body finally informed him of what was going on, making the connection with Joker's sluggish brain that he was indeed being restrained - by a pair of arms.   
  
And these weren't just any arms. They belonged to the hulking person underneath him. Batman.   
  
Joker snuggled up into his caretaker's arms, stretching out his fingers before retracting his arms entirely back to his chest. The Batman was warm. So much that it was hard to stay awake.   
  
Being held by Batman was like being wrapped up in a blanket and tucked away into the most soothing place on Earth. He was hard against the Joker's smaller body, molded to perfection after years of vigorous training... and yet there was nothing intimidating about him.   
  
The air was quiet. Joker knew these were moments rarely given to anyone, and he would have to treasure them. The privelage of watching Batman sleep was more than enough to let Joker die happily, and at that moment, he wished he could've. The look on his longtime arch-nemisis' face was peaceful, the muscles relaxed and allowed time to recooperate - for more scowling, no doubt.   
  
But the best part of it all was the smell. It was what sent a wave of euphoria through the Joker's body, tingling every last nerve to the core. Joker had memorized the scent of the Bat after many years of vicious fighting. Mostly he reeked of sweat, dirt and blood... but tonight - it was just HIM. And it was more than enough.   
  
With a deep breath, Joker lifted himself up slightly, just enough to be able to take in the sight with more ease. His emerald eyes glittered with curiosity, mentally outlining the edges of Batman's mask. It would be only too easy...  
  
...except for the fact that he was suddenly distracted.   
  
Slightly pouting lips caught his eye, carved into the Bat's face with a perfect sense of artistic fashion. They were the only real vulnerable thing on Batman's body. They were the only soft part.   
  
Joker found himself struggling to resist temptation, fingers twitching with the need to touch. He winced and started to lay down again... only to discover that his hand was moving of its own accord. Before he knew it, he had his white fingertips all over Batman's mouth, covering it completely... greedily. And the lips were yielding, sinking inward when pressed down upon.   
  
His own were lingering just over Batman's chest as he hid his face, feeling the need to break down and scream more than ever before. He was going to die soon! There was nothing - NOTHING! - anyone could do about it!   
  
He was going to lose his right to live the very moment a positive change happened in his life.  
  
Batman started stirring, wincing as he reacted to the Joker's fingers pulling down on his lower lip. He tried to move his arms to smack the intrusive sensation away, but he found he was bound by something. He jerked his head to the side and opened his eyes, spitting out whatever was in his mouth.  
  
Joker went still, pulling his hand back under the cape and tucking it between their chests. He closed his eyes and gritted his teeth together, praying that Batman would either fall asleep or neglect to chew him out for DARING to touch him.   
  
Batman let his head drop back and groaned, starting to remember how he'd ended up like this.  
  
"Are you angry?" Joker retreated further into the depths of Batman's cape.   
  
"What did you do?" Batman growled, staring at the ceiling.  
  
"Nothing," the clown whispered.   
  
The Bat sighed with relief. "Then why would I be angry?"   
  
"I don't know. I thought... you..." Joker lifted his face enough to see Batman. In his mind, he finished the thought. *I thought you didn't want me touching you.* Afterall, he was nothing more than a madman. "Nevermind."   
  
"Alright." Batman seemed uninterested and fidgety. He was trying to figure out how to get out of the tightly wound cape. "You know, I might have to roll over you to get us out of this."  
  
"Why? Can't we stay here for a while?" Joker was perfectly content to stay where he was... even if it meant letting his food go cold.   
  
Batman lifted his head up a little more to look down at the Joker with his patented 'no' face.  
  
Joker laid back down, anyway. Let the Bat roll over him if he wanted. He wasn't going to help.   
  
Batman sniffed the air. He smelled food. Had Alfred been down here? He never did listen.  
  
"Okay. I'm sorry if this hurts." He said, then started to rock a little to try to flip himself over.  
  
He paused. That had been a first.  
  
Joker tensed, bringing his shoulders up protectively as he was rocked side to side.   
  
Batman froze. He'd come up with a better idea... and started wriggling sideways toward the edge of the bed.  
  
*Don't do it,* Joker warned himself mentally. But almost as soon as he'd thought it, he giggled. And then started laughing. "Stop it! That tickles!" He shook against Batman, moving as he continued his bemused laughter.   
  
Batman ignored the giggling.  
  
"Can you reach the clasps to release my cape?" He asked.  
  
"Maybe," Joker taunted playfully.   
  
"Joker."  
  
"Batman."  
  
Batman rolled his eyes and shook his head. "Fine. Be difficult." He continued to inch his way toward the edge of the bed.  
  
With a definite tease to his movements, Joker ran his hand up Batman's chest and fingered with the clasps, not pulling them free, but tugging enough to show he knew very well where they were.   
  
"Thank you. Undo them, please."  
  
"What will I get out of it?" Joker lifted one eyebrow and gazed at Batman imploringly.   
  
"My undying devotion." Batman said flatly.  
  
"Ooh! Good enough for me!" Joker made like he was going to undo the clasps, and then paused. "Only if devotion means attention... and not harrassment." He giggled and then did as he was asked, freeing the cape from Batman's shoulders.   
  
"Thank you." Batman said humorlessly. He continued to inch toward the side of the bed, feeling the cape now start to unravel underneath him.  
  
"Grab ahold of the cape and give it a good tug." He instructed. "Hard. Don't worry about ripping it."  
  
Joker made a face and grabbed the cape, more than happy to be given permission to touch something. He started pulling, but was having a difficult time considering his physical state... and the closeness of their bodies.   
  
Batman bent his knees, planted his feet on the bed and pushed his hips up, freeing the cape underneath him. It was a bit difficult with Joker 'on board' so to speak, but he managed. He looked at the Joker who was sliding toward his face a little due to gravity.  
  
"When I push my upper body up, pull as hard as you can." He told him.  
  
"Okay," Joker mumbled, trying really hard not to notice the position Batman was in.   
  
"On three." Batman instructed. "One. . . Two. . . Three!" He rocked back on the bed slightly, then pushed forward with his legs, moving his upper body into the air about three inches.  
  
Tonight the Joker had been trying to be fairly cooperative. He had agreed to pull the cape, and was really planning on it... But when Batman lifted them up into the air, he couldn't do anything beside laugh. The cape was left alone, clenched in his fingers and in the same spot by the time they landed.   
  
Batman collapsed onto the bed, very annoyed.  
  
"Fine. You want to do this the hard way, we will."  
  
Without further ado, he rolled over, crushing the Joker into the matress as he found his footing on the ground, then he stood up. The cape tumbled loose in a cascading circle.  
  
He grumbled something and started tracking down the source of the food smell.  
  
Joker choked down several more giggles and watched as Batman walked away, being sure the eyeslits couldn't pick up on his movements. He sprawled out on the sheets, pretending to look flushed - which was only halfway faked - and mouthed a string of girly words to himself. "I do declare!" he exclaimed at the end.   
  
"Frankly my dear, I don't give a damn!" Batman shot back. He located the collection of things Alfred had brought down. Helpful, but risky. Bad butler.  
  
"Oh, but honey-punkin-pie," Joker cooed. He pulled at his borrowed pajama pants, hating that they were FAR too big for his slender frame. He was so used to having his clothes tailored to fit him that this was nearly unbearable.   
  
Batman dug through the piles of neatly folded clothing until he found the pajamas he'd instructed Alfred to get for the Joker. Purple silk, with a green embroidered cursive "J" above the left breast pocket. He tossed them at the Joker.  
  
"Ack!" Joker caught the pajamas out of pure luck, having raised his hands for protection rather than in an attempt at catching them. After he managed to gather his wits, he lowerd the clothes into his lap and inspected them closely. "Oooh... you had these made for me?" He looked up and smiled sweetly, feeling slightly elated.   
  
The Dark Knight nodded slightly. He noticed that Alfred had brought him a change of clothes as well. What was the old man trying to hint at? Whatever it was, he didn't like it.  
  
"There's food here." He said.  
  
Joker nodded and started pulling on his new set of pajamas, unable to shake the satisfaction he felt in wearing them. They were so pretty... and fit like Batman had taken measurements! "Perfect," he muttered to himself, standing up from the bed with shaky legs.   
  
Carefully, the Joker started forward, wincing as a throbbing struck up in his head. "I don't feel so good." He paused mid-step, blinked his eyes against a wave of nausea, and then lowered himself to the floor.   
  
Batman rushed over. Even with the cowl hiding his eyes, concern was evident.  
  
"What's wrong?" He asked.  
  
"I hurt," Joker whispered, feeling the pain spread throughout his frame. He leaned over forward onto the floor, clenching his muscles in an attempt to chase it all away.   
  
Batman immediately pulled a syringe from his utility belt. "Painkillers," he explained, then injected the Joker with the drug.  
  
Joker whined softly. He hated needles. They were the WORST. Not even Batman could ever change his mind about that. "Thank you," he managed. The pain was already subsiding.   
  
Batman brushed the Joker's hair away from his feverish forehead with the flat of his hand.  
  
"I'm sorry." He said softly. "You should eat something."  
  
Joker nodded and reached out, grabbing onto Batman's retreating arm. "Help me?" he asked softly.   
  
"Help you what?" Batman asked gently.  
  
"Stand up," Joker explained, his voice wary all of a sudden. The drugs were taking the intended effect, but they were making him drowsy as well.   
  
Batman nodded and stood up, then held out a gloved hand to the Joker. The very thing that was so often directed at the pale man as a fist was now extended in a gesture of friendship.  
  
While using as much strength as he could, Joker latched onto Batman's hand and pulled himself to his feet. He wavered slightly and then sighed. "Maybe I'd better sit down."   
  
Batman helped the Joker sit on the edge of the bed. He was worried. He wanted to know what was wrong, and more importantly, he wanted to be able to fix it.  
  
"I need to make a few phone calls." He said. "Are you going to be okay for a few minutes if I bring over some food?"  
  
Joker nodded silently and scooted back onto the mattress. He sighed, noting that it wasn't warm anymore.   
  
Batman quickly went to retrieve the tray of food and set it down in front of the Joker. It was simple brunch fare: assorted breads, s few different kinds of eggs, fruit, orange juice and a cheese plate.  
  
"I'll be back soon." He promised, then headed over to the computer.  
  
In the course of about ten minutes, Joker consumed half of what was on the tray. He was careful to leave the rest for Batman, knowing that he had yet to eat today, either. "What are you doing?" he asked afterward, picking at the cheese plate.   
  
Batman had his back to him and was talking on the phone in a hushed voice. He soon hung up the phone and leaned on the computer console, looking defeated.  
  
"Wasting both our time." He said sadly.  
  
"How so?" Joker pressed. He moved to the edge of the bed and slowly raised himself up to his feet. Carefully, he walked across the room, weaker than he should've been but not in any pain.   
  
"It doesn't matter." The Bat said darkly. "I have work to do."  
  
He turned to the computer screens, trying to block out the pain he was feeling.  
  
"I've had too many people die."  
  
It took a moment for him to realize he'd said that out loud. Damn it.  
  
Joker frowned and moved closer to Batman, watching the computer screen over his shoulder. He couldn't help but be amazed, considering this was where the Bat likely did most of his detective work. "I don't want to be another of those people," Joker replied lowly. And then, as if in an attempt to change subjects, he pointed at the sceen and asked, "Do you have files on me in there?"   
  
"Quite a few." Batman said seriously.  
  
"Show me?"  
  
Batman typed in a series of commands and a dossier-style file with the Joker's picture and vital statistics popped up on the screen.  
  
Joker giggled and pointed at it. "That's a terrible picture of me! Why don't you replace it?" He stepped forward and examined it more closely. "Name... unknown. Awww... that's a pity. Nobody ever seems to be able to figure that one out!" He smirked and then jabbed his finger into a random button. "What does this do?!"  
  
"That's the caps lock key." Batman muttered. He pressed the same key to take the lock off. "If you tell me your name, I'll add it right now. As for the picture, it's from your Arkham file. It updates when they update."  
  
"Poo," Joker spat. He folded his arms and pouted. "You should update it yourself. I'm sure you know how." He was trying really hard to ignore the part about his name... and noticed some rather appealing and much larger buttons off to the side. "Ooooh... what does THIS do?!" He shoved his entire palm into it, grinning madly.   
  
"Don't. . .!" Batman said insistently, then his shoulders slumped as, across the room, the Batcave's weapons cache swung open from it's concealed place in the wall of the cave.  
  
"Hee! LOOK at all the TOYS!" Joker shouted. He turned and headed for the opening, his fingers curled in anticipation of playing with Batman's batarangs... and whatever else he could find.   
  
"Just stay away from the napalm." Batman muttered, dropping his head into his hands.  
  
"Mmhmm." Joker nodded once and picked up a handful of batarangs, holding them against his chest so as not to drop them. But just as soon as he finished gathering them, he notice a grappling hook... and his eyes narrowed mischieviously. "Lookie at what I found." He giggled and snatched it up, closing one eye to aim it at the ceiling. "Batman! Look look look! I'm YOU!" He pressed the release and began laughing hysterically as the hooked end shot out and latched onto the rocks above them.   
  
Batman turned around in his chair slowly. He knew by the sound what the Joker had done, and was prepared to see the worst. He was pleasantly surprised to discover that it was actually somewhat childlike.  
  
"Now what are you going to do?" He asked, standing up. "You're missing an important piece of equipment."  
  
He slowly crossed the room and grabbed one of Batgirl's utility belts, thinking that they would be the only ones that would fit. He paused, thought about it, and then switched it for one of Robin's. He also grabbed a mask.  
  
If the Joker wanted to enroll in sidekick school, so be it.  
  
He headed toward the Joker and snapped the belt around his waist, then stuck the mask on his face.  
  
"There. That's better." He said with a hint of a smile. "Actually, you look more like Huntress in the purple."  
  
"Do I?" Joker modeled the new additions, dropping all his gathered batarangs to the floor. "The Huntress is silly. She doesn't know how to have fun." He tugged at the grappling hook a little, confused about how to work it... but then decided he wasn't done playing with it anyway and pulled on it, hanging his weight off of it as he poked at the belt.   
  
"Yes, the Huntress is even more uptight than I am." Batman agreed. "Here, let me show you how to use this."  
  
He stepped in behind Joker and reached around him to find the clasp. It was hidden near the middle of the Joker's belt, and the line from the grappling hook fit into it. He found it, took the cable, and snapped it in.  
  
"There." He said. "Now you can pull up, but you won't slide down unless you hit the release. See?"  
  
He tugged upward on the cable to demonstrate the resistance.  
  
"Huh?" Joker made a face and pressed several buttons at the same time, confusing the mechanism in it. He rose from the ground a little and then stopped... and fell back onto his feet. "I don't think I'm understanding this... quite..."   
  
Batman smirked and moved around in front of him.  
  
"You're reversing the controls." He said. "And it doesn't work when you're hitting everything at once."  
  
He closed the top of a nearby compartment the Joker had inadvertantly opened.  
  
Joker shivered all over as Batman reached out to touch his belt, watching with an intense gaze. "So I push this button, then?" He poked at it lightly, not really expecting it to react - which it did. He rose from the ground a few feet, surprised and searching for the button to stop it. "I don't think I like this!" he shouted.   
  
Batman laughed. The sound echoed through the cave.  
  
"Don't worry. If you get stuck, I'll get you down." He said.  
  
The Joker's eyes were wide as he continued to rise slowly into the air, above Batman's head now and going... "Errmm...." He picked at the utility belt, finding several batarangs. They snapped into their full shape and settled into his hands as though created for someone with thin fingers. With a grin, he threw the first one... and blushed as it flew a couple feet and then plummetted.   
  
Batman raced to catch the batarang before it broke something. He jumped into the air to catch it before it went crashing through the display case holding one of the Penguin's umbrellas.  
  
"Those aren't the easiest things to use." He called up to the Joker. "Especially when you're dangling in mid air."  
  
"I'm going to try again," he declared to himself. Turning slowly, he aimed for the computer. "Watch this! I'll bet I can hit my picture!" He pulled his arm back and then threw-... nothing? "Hey!" he whined. "Where is it?" The batarang hit the ground behind him, bouncing once before settling. Joker growled.   
  
Batman grinned. "Man. You SUCK!" He taunted. He caught himself and realized. . . he was having fun.  
  
The Joker opened his mouth to respond, but then caught the fact that Batman had just said something rather uncharacteristic of him. He narrowed his eyes suspiciously and took aim with his batarang. "Oh yeah? Take THIS!" He set loose on the last one, going for Batman's stomach. He giggled and pointed, watching as it flew right past him. "I need practice, I think."   
  
Batman picked up the fallen batarang and tossed it back toward the Joker, then started running forward. The batarang sliced through the cord the Joker was hanging from just as Batman got underneath him.  
  
Joker let out a horrendous scream as he fell, closing his eyes tightly with instinctive fear.   
  
Batman caught him effortlessly. "Yeah. You need practice." He said with a smirk.  
  
It disturbed him that he still enjoyed frightening the Joker.  
  
Being caught wasn't the problem. It was the fall immediately beforehand that got to the Joker. He glared and folded his arms, but raised an eyebrow playfully. "I don't suppose you intend on teaching me, though." He smirked and leaned against Batman.   
  
Batman set him down and turned him around, pressing a batarang into his hand. He then wrapped his gloved hands around the Joker's pale extremity and pulled his arm in. His other hand settled on the Joker's shoulder to position his purple-clad body.  
  
"It's all in the wrist." He explained. "You've got to get it spinning, kind of like a frisbee, like this."  
  
He manipulated the Joker's body in a slow motion version of the correct technique. Then he took the weapon away out of the Joker's hand, and held it out in his own.  
  
"But it has to be a lot faster." He said, reaching his other hand out to grab the Joker's. He opened up the Joker's palm and pressed it around his own gloved wrist. He brought his arm in against the Joker's chest.  
  
"Try to feel how my wrist moves." He said, then flung his arm out, flicking his wrist just as his arm extended fully.  
  
The batarang flew across the room and disappeared into the gloom. A few seconds later, the sound of it striking a wall, and the flurry of many wings came came back to them.   
  
The Joker peered after the batarang, amazed at the fact that it just seemed to vanish. "You know how I said your knuckles hurt when we talked in the hospital? Well, so do those things." He pointed after it and then leaned against Batman, figuring that at this point, he ought to be able to.   
  
Batman nodded. "Remember how I responded?" He asked. "Same applies. But they don't hurt as much as bullets."  
  
He lowered his arm with the Joker's hand still attached to it.  
  
The Joker shrugged and pulled Batman's hand back up, picking at the glove as he thought. "How many times have you been shot? Do you have a lot of scars?"  
  
"Thanks to a plastic surgeon, not as many as I should." Batman answered, his brow furrowing as he wondered what the Joker was up to with his hand. "I don't get shot all that often anymore. When I used to wear this suit though. . . it was bad."  
  
"I've shot you a few times," Joker commented slowly. He pushed a finger against Batman's, bending it backwards tenderly.. "Do you still have any of those scars?"   
  
Batman had to think for a moment. "There's a tiny mark on my left ankle from a piece of a bullet from your gun." He said. "I figured it wasn't worth having removed. It could be anything."  
  
Joker looked down at Batman's foot instinctively, wondering about the mark. He wanted to see it but was afraid to ask... so he refrained. "Is that all? There isn't anything else? I know I got you once here." He pointed at the Bat's arm. His other hand held onto Batman's thumb, keeping it close as though he weren't finished with it.   
  
Batman nodded. "There's a small mark, but it's a surgical scar. I had that one fixed: it went clean through. You got me in the side once years ago. My right thigh a while back. You even nicked my neck once. And there's a small mark on my jaw right here from one of your bullets."  
  
He lifted his chin slightly and brushed the thumb the Joker wasn't hanging onto against a slight pink mark on the underside of his jaw.  
  
"Awwww..." Joker smiled as innocently as he could and reached up to touch it. He ran his finger tenderly over the mark, tempted toward kissing it better... but trying to convince himself not to. He pushed the skin a little and then settled his hand over Batman's collar bone, examining it with his eyes. "I don't want to sound like a broken record or anything - because those are ghastly - but I'm sorry for it." Joker lifted himself upward, standing on his toes as he moved in to kiss it.   
  
* 


	17. Changing The Rules

Chapter 17 - Changing The Rules  
  
Batman froze. His reactions were a mess of contradictions that kept cancelling each other out like matter and anti-matter. The ingrained instincts of many years fought the newly-emerged wishes of the recent past. As the Joker got closer, all he could do was breathe in harsh spurts. Those red lips, the ones that had touched his that night in Arkham, the ones he associated with hate and death and an endless struggle, but also with one of the few moments since the Bat was born that things had made total sense to him. In those moments in that prison for the insane, he'd felt safe from himself. He wasn't going to hurt anyone. No one was going to die.  
  
He swallowed hard. The Joker WAS going to die. Breath was going to stop moving between those ruby lips, and his pale skin...  
  
He couldn't bring himself to think about it. The Joker couldn't die. Not now! Not when everything was finally starting to make sense. But the logical part of him knew that he was going to. Everyone died. Especially anyone. . .  
  
Anyone that he loved. It was the very reason he'd tried his best to stay distanced from Dick. If he refused that one thing, Dick would be spared the fate of everyone that he dared care about.   
  
But it was already too late for the Joker, so what was the point in fighting? To spare himself pain? He'd learned by then that never worked. Denying your feelings for someone only made it hurt worse when they were gone, and yet he still kept clinging to those old patterns.   
  
His parents had died. He'd denied himself a son who had always been desperate for his approval. He'd lost numerous lovers, because he pushed them away; Vesper had even died because he'd forced her out of his life.  
  
Then there was Sasha. Another brave woman who foolishly loved him. Who stayed around through his abuse and his neglect and his blindness to her feelings. She'd given him everything, and he'd let her rot. He'd let her die. He'd lost her.  
  
And Talia. Poor, torn, lovesick Talia. She could have been so much, but in the end, she was nothing more than a pawn of the men in her life: her father, Luthor, and any of the 'suitors' her father had determined worthy.  
  
Including him. Most of all him. He'd ground her up with his unbending ethics and his cold need for boundaries until she'd started avoiding him. And it had hurt. And then she disappeared. Perhaps Luthor killed her for trying to ruin his company. Perhaps her father had gotten to her. Perhaps she'd just decided that she needed to get away from all the pain.   
  
He realized he'd been running. Running his whole life, not trying to fight crime and injustice, but trying to fight himself. Creating Batman was a way of absolving himself of any emotional connection to the people in his life. Deep down inside, he'd always known that had been wrong. That's why he'd always seen the Bat as a monster.  
  
He almost collapsed as the weight of his repeated error crashed down on him. He was no hero. He was a coward. Clark, Diana, Kyle, Wally, Arthur, and even Eel in his own strange way had found their own ways to love and be loved in return. They were stronger than him, willing to risk. Hell, even J'onn, who didn't even appear human in his true form, dared to love a woman who was a single parent, and for years did nothing about it for her sake. He'd watched it all; recorded it. Made note of their weaknesses so he could use them if need be. But had he learned from it? No. He'd been too afraid.   
  
Driven by a sudden undeniable curiousity, Batman pried the mask from Joker's face, tilting his head down to meet his eyes. In those pools of green he saw the same need, the same desire, as he'd seen in all those he'd cast aside, tossed away, and kept at arm's length. He saw his chance at redemption. He needed to break through his fear, break through the walls he'd built up to keep everyone out, and do something because someone needed him to do it, not because his master plan dictated it. It wasn't being selfish: it was precisely the opposite.  
  
The Joker's eyes said, *Love me.*  
  
If anyone found out about this, it would destroy him. It would crumble everyone's conceptions of who and what he was. But this wasn't about maintaining that facade anymore. He had to do this. He had to reach out. He had to be a source of comfort to someone. And why not the Joker? Why not start with someone that he'd hurt so many times?  
  
It didn't mean it had to stop there.  
  
He slid his hands up the Joker's body and slowly brought his arms around those fragile, pale shoulders. He pulled the now-trembling form of his former arch-nemesis toward him, and, closing his eyes, lowered his head to meet those crimson lips with his.   
  
*Forgive me,* He thought. It was a plea to all those he'd ever wronged. A plea for redemption.  
  
There had been a few good moments where Joker was wondering just WHAT exactly was going on. Batman had fallen silent and not even so much as moved... until all at once, he was being kissed. The silence right beforehand had been unbearable, sending all the wrong signals. He'd been sure the Bat would shove him away, turn around and stalk off. He'd expected to be hit, to be yelled at... anything but what was happening.   
  
Not that he was complaining.   
  
Joker felt himself falling apart at the seams, unable to keep up with his brain as it ran in circles, scratching at anything that made sense. Everything was being turned upside-down, and he couldn't have cared less. All that mattered was Batman. It's all that had ever mattered... and all that would EVER matter.   
  
Living had always been so cheap in the Joker's journey through the years. It had been so misused - so neglected. Nobody had ever really cared about him beside Harley, and she wasn't much to brag about. She was obsessed. There was a difference between loving someone and wanting to live off of the air they breathed.   
  
The hand holding onto Batman's thumb tightened briefly, tensing while his other slid down the broad chest he was leaning against. His fingers moved, pressing into Batman's palm and then to his gloved digits, forcing them out as he slid in between them. He held Batman's hand tenderly, scooting forward to fill in as much space between them as possible.   
  
Joker had to be close. The defenses were down, and Batman was vulnerable. He was trying to share his emotions, and the Joker would be there to scoop them up. He'd be there to throw himself to the floor, pick up the pieces and cradle them in his arms. He would be there as long as he could make himself continue breathing.   
  
And it was then he recognized the shudder in his breath as his heart struggled to keep up, completely overwhelmed with the situation's intensity. He felt a build-up of passion, pleading to be released as he furthered the kiss, pressing his lips back. He was careful not to try and assume control, knowing how the Bat responded to such things. The Joker would let himself be guided. He would step down and just give in... submit completely to whatever it was the Batman wanted.   
  
Wanting was more than the Batman had done in all these years, and the Joker understood this.   
  
Batman tensed up momentarily and tried to pry his hand away from the Joker's, but quickly forced the panic away and squeezed the his hand, searching for the strength to continue to stay open. He had to do this. As much as his defense mechanisms were screaming at him, as unnatural as it felt, he had to. Something told him that if he couldn't break free of the prison he'd built himself now, he never would.  
  
The Joker recognized immediately that Batman was feeling tense and sought to do anything he could to relieve it. He pressed himself in close, his right arm snaking around the large chest to hold it. He rubbed the muscles gently, his other hand squeezing down on Batman's to show him he cared.   
  
Bruce's body ached. He felt tired. Broken. He felt like he was dying. No longer able to stand, he sank to his knees in front of the Joker.  
  
"What's wrong?" Joker asked, both hands meeting over the one that belonged to the Dark Knight. He fell down beside Batman and leaned in, pressing his face to the larger man's neck.   
  
Batman dropped sideways into a sitting position, staring blankly at a spot on the floor in front of him. He shrugged the Joker's head away and turned to face him, searching for anything that would stop his chest from feeling like it was going to explode. He wished the Joker had stayed on his feet. He knew that seeing Batman like this was probably tearing his friend apart, but he couldn't help it: he was overwhelmed by the supressed emotions of too many years.  
  
"Is this. . .supposed to hurt?" He struggled to ask.  
  
"No more than it hurts when you pull away," Joker answered. "It's because you've ignored the most important part of your entire being for so long. Just let it do what it wants. Let yourself feel." He followed Batman timidly, taking a seat beside him on the floor.   
  
"It's not that simple." Batman said, fighting to speak. "I. . . I can't breathe."  
  
"Why are you so afraid of me?" Joker stared at him intently. "Isn't there something I can do to help you? Name it and I'll do it." He felt his pulse slowing, evening out after the sudden kiss... but wanted so much more. The rush had left him worn, slightly irratated and feeling empty. He craved for the contact again, pleading inwardly that it would be offered.   
  
"It's not you. It's me I'm afraid of." Bruce explained. "I. . . There's something about me that ruins people's lives. I don't know what, but it feels so real sometimes I can't make myself believe it's not there."  
  
"I ruined my life," Joker whispered. "You merely helped me mold it into something real. I was mad long before I hit that vat of chemicals, Batman. You don't ruin everything. You make things better. You bring order to chaos." He frowned and leaned forward, lowering himself to the floor on his side. He faced Batman and watched him from this new position. The pain medication seemed to lose its edge, dulling to make his body hurt a little. But beyond that, he was tired. He'd expended so much energy in being awake that he hadn't even recognized the exhaustion building up. "Don't push me away," he pleaded. "You promised to try and make me happy before I died. All I want is to be as close to you as I can."   
  
"I'm not stopping you." Batman said, his voice taking on a dark rumble as his emotions continued to overwhelm him. "But the 'order' you speak of is all a lie, Joker. No matter how much order I bring to the world around me, I can't stop the chaos in myself. It's eating me alive and has been for years. It's almost gotten to the point where I can't feel."  
  
Joker paused to mull over Batman's words, raising up into a sitting position once more. "Let me stop it for you." He moved closer, resting both hands on the thickly muscled thighs, barely contained beneath the old fabric of Batman's suit. "Let me be the one to help you feel, again."   
  
Batman looked up as he felt himself shiver at the Joker's touch. He nodded slowly, forcing away the habitual suspicions he'd built up over time until he could barely see past them.  
  
"How do you intend to do that?" He asked.  
  
Joker had to collect himself, feeling his mind fall to pieces under Batman's gaze. "By making you feel," he explained in a soothing voice. He let a hand roam Batman's chest, trailing along the collar bone and then down the middle of his pectoral muscles. Joker's other hand joined the first and repeated the process. Immediately after, his right slid back to Batman's shoulder, gripping it firmly while his other lingered over Batman's heart. "Would you let me try?"   
  
Batman nodded, then shook his head, obviously conflicted. He really didn't feel like being touched: he felt like crawling into a corner and hiding. He couldn't even form logical thought patterns anymore. Things were just. . . happening.  
  
On top of that, there was still the residual instinct that the Joker being this close was hazardous to Batman's health. Part of him expected a gun to appear in the Joker's hand at any moment, even though he knew logically it was impossible. . . but logically, kissing the Joker would have been impossible, and he'd done that twice now.  
  
"How do you intend to do that?" He repeated cautiously.  
  
The look on Batman's face alerted Joker that he was still uncomfortable, but it wasn't enough to deter him from doing what he felt was needed. "Before I give you your answer, I need you to understand that I only want to help you. I could never hurt you again. Not even if you hurt me." He climbed up into Batman's lap and sat on him, his legs on either side of his 'seat'. "I intend on making you feel by doing this." He demonstrated his meaning by leaning in for a kiss, taking Batman's mouth before any protest could be made.   
  
*Here we go again.* Bruce thought, detaching his mind from what was happening to his body... without even thinking about it. Stupid Eastern technique. Stupid training. Stupid mind/body control issues. He didn't want to be in control right now. He didn't want to be numb. He wanted to enjoy one stupid kiss without everything being high drama. So what he'd never been attracted to men? So what the Joker was the last person he'd ever have considered dropping his guard with. For one god damned minute he'd like to enjoy something without there being ulterior motives or guilt involved. Just feel good with no side effects.  
  
Like the Joker did. He just waltzed through life like nothing mattered.  
  
He squeezed his eyes shut as tight as he could and tried to focus on the sensation of the Joker's mouth touching his. But everything seemed so impersonal somehow.  
  
It was the damned mask. That had to be it.  
  
But he couldn't take it off, could he?  
  
The same line of thought seemed to be going through the Joker's mind - but in reverse. He hated that the Batman was so wrapped up in being distant. He hated the cold feeling he received everytime he tried moving closer.   
  
He tried to convince himself to hate Batman.   
  
But his favorite playmate was suffering, and the Joker was finding it impossible to break through and pull him out. He was at a loss, eager to do anything he possibly could... and feeling restrained. He broke the kiss impatiently, unable to pretend he could enjoy something so forced. "Dammit," he hissed, trailing his lips down over Batman's throat. "Stop thinking for once. I can feel your brain working even as you sit here. What is it? Why can't you relate?" He pulled away to stare at Batman's face, trying to discover the eyes he KNEW were hidden there.   
  
"Take it off," he said simply.   
  
"What?" Bruce asked, trying to play dumb.  
  
"Your mask, Batman. It's in the way."   
  
"What's your real name?" Batman shot back.  
  
The Joker stopped himself midspeech and backed away onto the floor. He sat up straight and then proceeded to get up on his knees. "I demand that you take off your mask. I asked first."  
  
Batman sighed, nodded, and got to his feet, unable to believe he was actually considering doing this. He reached back and detached the headpiece from the back of the suit, then paused.  
  
"If I do, will you tell me?" He asked.  
  
Joker felt his heart thundering, his blood beating through every vein as though it would destroy him. This absolutely was not happening. Batman was not here, willing to share his secrets with him.   
  
He forced himself to remain calm... just long enough to answer, "I will tell you anything I can remember of life before you... if that's what you want. Including my name."   
  
"If you're lying. . ." Batman began, then realized he had no threats left. He was defenseless. Helpless. He might as well concede defeat.  
  
He placed his hands on either side of the cowl and took a deep breath, giving himself a last chance to come to his senses and back out of this.  
  
But what was the point of that? This game was over.  
  
His thumbs detached the cape from the shoulders of the suit. Now all he had to do was lift the mask off.  
  
He held his breath, realizing that in a way, this was signalling the end of Batman.  
  
"I'm not lying. I haven't lied about anything since the night in Arkham." Joker climbed to his feet and stepped forward, waiting for the moment he'd dreamed of for years on end. He wanted to see what the Batman had been hiding all along. If this mask was what kept him from being more open with life, then Joker wanted it burned.   
  
Batman nodded and took a step back, finding a shadow that hid his face from the Joker's eager eyes. He closed his eyes and lifted the cowl off his head. He turned the mask around to look at the barrier that had kept him safe from so much of the outside world for so long, and as he looked at those soulless eye slits, an alkaline taste filled his mouth. He hated the Bat. He always had. But up until now, he'd seen it as being necessary.  
  
Perhaps it was, but at that moment, the Bat's presence felt wrong.  
  
With a disgusted grunt, he threw the cowl at the Joker's feet, then lifted his head up and stepped forward slowly. His eyes caught the light first in a flash of blue, then the darkness peeled back to reveal his face.  
  
Joker gasped the very moment he caught sight of Ba-...Bruce.   
  
His eyes were wild with amazement, meeting those of his greatest enemy. So they WERE blue... just as he'd suspected. They were a beautiful, breathtaking blue - the kind you could find in a set of artist's paint. There was so much darkness in them, and it gave the look a dangerous appeal, searing into his flesh mercilessly. He imagined he could pass out any moment, slumping onto the ground without the will to move ever again.   
  
Seconds passed as the Joker stared, unable to break out of his entrancement. "You're so beautiful," he whispered, hurrying forward to bury himself into Batman's arms. The identity was of no concern. The magic was in seeing his face the way it was meant to be seen... nevermind that he was also the last person he'd ever suspected. Nevermind that all the pieces of the puzzle fit together, now.   
  
He had Batman the way he wanted him.   
  
Joker felt alive.   
  
"Your name." Bruce said insistently as his arms closed around the Joker. He felt weak, vulnerable, jittery, but he could FEEL those things. The mask was gone, and with it, the blockages that had prevented feelings of any sort.   
  
The Joker sighed and closed his eyes. "I'm not sure what my name is," he responded slowly. "I've forgotten most of what happened before I became who I am, now. The last thing I remember being called was 'Jack'. And... I can't even remember who called me that."   
  
"Jack." Bruce repeated, trying the name out. "It's as good as anything, I suppose. Better than Joker for sure."  
  
"I hope you don't intend on using it," Joker immediately answered. "Jack is a weird name. No more so than yours... But weird, none-the-less."  
  
"I'm not calling you Joker anymore." Bruce said. "And I don't want you calling me Batman."  
  
*Wow, that's weird.* He thought. "That game's over. New rules now."  
  
"I... don't know how easy that's going to be for me." Joker held onto the front of Batman's cloth suit, his fingers tugging at it slightly. "But I can try... Bruce."   
  
Bruce grinned. "There, was that so hard?" He asked.  
  
"I guess not." Joker turned to watch his right hand as he picked at the bat symbol. "Why do you sound different? Your voice changed a little when you took off the mask."   
  
"Because I'm a different person when I'm not wearing it," the man who spent his nights as Batman explained gently. He wasn't going to get into specifics, since he doubted the Joker was interested in them. "You sound different when. . . well, let's just say I hope I never hear that voice again."  
  
"What makes you so different when you put it on? You're still the same person." Joker tilted his head to look upwards at Bruce, narrowing his eyes after the last comment. "Wait... what do you mean? What voice? How do I sound different?"  
  
Bruce scratched the back of his head, unsure how to explain this without triggering something unpleasant.  
  
"The hardest thing for Batman when he deals with the Joker is predicting what he's going to do next. Sometimes he's dealing with a homicidal maniac hell-bent on destruction, sometimes he's dealing with a childlike character who's distracted by snowflakes. . . or yellow Bat symbols on people's chests."  
  
He took a moment to pry the Joker's. . . Jack's hand away from his clothing.  
  
"But as soon as I. . . he hears the Joker's voice, he knows which one he's dealing with. That make sense?"  
  
"Are you patronizing me?" Joker demanded - though there was a severe lack of malice in his tone. "I'm not childlike." He wiggled his fingers out of Bruce's hand and then resumed picking at the clothing.  
  
"So what are the giant teddy bears and exploding hobby horses then? Just a die-hard gimmick?" Bruce asked, again removing the insistent hand.  
  
"If you don't stop-" Joker backed up a few inches and used both hands to try and escape Bruce's. "-I'm going to be forced to use drastic measures." He grunted and managed to get away once more, returning to leaning on Bruce's chest. He turned onto his other shoulder, then, and picked at the symbol with his left hand. "I like bears sometimes," he said simply. "They're funny."   
  
Bruce laughed and shook his head, then grabbed at Jack's left hand. "My point exactly." He said. "Now stop that. It feels weird."  
  
"Make me stop it," he challenged, using his right to resume the slow process of trying to peel off the Bat sign.   
  
"Jack." Bruce said sternly, starting to become annoyed. How would he make him stop it?  
  
Distracted by snowflakes. Of course.  
  
"Hey, look! A giant penny!" He said, pointing at the giant coin displayed prominently in the cave.  
  
Joker stuck his tongue out and made a face, but dropped his hand as well. The other was still being held onto... and he didn't mind it in the least. "Giant pennies are boring," he responded cooly. "I'm more interested in you."   
  
*Damn it. Okay, he wants me, he's gonna get me.* Bruce thought. *As long as he stops picking at me.*  
  
The plate under the symbol was shifting against his fingers, and was starting to irritate his skin.  
  
"Come on then. I'll show you the house."  
  
"Not right now," Joker protested. "I don't feel well enough to go walking around a mansion. That IS what you live in, right? That's why the bathroom was so nice? And why you have all this... stuff..." He waved his hands around and then looked down at his pajamas. "Purple," he commented to himself. "I like this, by the way."   
  
"I thought you would." Bruce replied, rubbing at his chest. "If you'll excuse me, I've got to get out of this thing."  
  
He grabbed the clothes Alfred had brought him and headed for the back of the cave.  
  
The Joker paused... and then followed after Bruce.   
  
"Stay there." Bruce called out over his shoulder.  
  
"Why?" Joker's voice was inquisitive, not in the least concerned with leaving Bruce alone to himself. He quickened his pace to keep up with the taller man.   
  
Bruce stopped moving with a growly sigh.  
  
*Because I like you Jack, just not that much,* he thought, but considered that an inappropriate comment in lieu of the fact he'd just kissed him. Damn this was getting confusing.  
  
"Because I don't like people watching me change." He said instead.  
  
Joker shrugged once. "I don't mind watching. I'll understand if you're embarrassed. I mean, c'mon... you're pitifully misshappen. But that's okay."   
  
Batman mode kicked in and Joker was greeted with That look when Bruce turned around. The presence of actual pupils made the whole effect even more frightening than usual.   
  
"Hey!" Joker immediately chastised. "We're playing with new rules, remember? You have to at least pretend to enjoy my company." He looked faintly hurt, but tried concealing it.   
  
"That doesn't mean you get to see me naked." Batman said darkly, backing into the alcove that led to the area the suits were kept. When he stepped though the first set of doors, they slammed shut.  
  
Joker folded his arms over his chest and stormed off. "Batman, YOU are a grade-a jerk." He went back to the mattress and climbed onto it, rolling onto his stomach while he waited. After a while of getting bored, he began pulling threads out of the quilt.   
  
When Joker was on his third thread, Bruce Wayne emerged from the airlock type doors wearing a three-button white shirt and casual navy blue pants. There was a slightly greater air of indifference to the way he walked now. He located the Joker on the bed and watched him destroy the quilt without saying a word.   
  
Joker ignored Bruce's approach for a couple of seconds and pulled viciously at the quilt, quiet ripping sounds floating up into the air. "Go 'way, Bat," he grumbled.   
  
"Suit yourself." Bruce said with a shrug, then turned and started toward the stairs.  
  
"Jerk," Joker mumbled when Bruce turned around. He sniffled a little and pulled the covers up over his head, remembering suddenly that he was hungry, still. "Go sit in your big dumb mansion. See if I care."   
  
"I think I'll do that." Bruce said cooly, starting to understand the rules of this new game.  
  
Joker couldn't help but think to himself that maybe this had been a bad idea. Maybe he was better off just knowing Batman. Neither one seemed to care much. They liked to play pretend... to push and shove. There was no real identity for that man. He just was. It sickened the Joker on a level he'd never realized he had, before.   
  
Batman and Bruce. The same person... very much so. And both men had issues with showing their feelings. Joker could see he wasn't going to be let in long enough to understand him, so what was the use?   
  
"Good. Lord knows I don't need YOUR company, BRUCE," he hissed suddenly. "I can talk to this pillow and get the same satisfaction out of it."   
  
Bruce paused on the first step. Why had he reverted to old patterns?   
  
The answer came to him instantly: because he had time alone, time to firm up his cowardly defenses again.  
  
No. He wasn't going to do that.  
  
He turned around and headed back toward the Joker. However, he couldn't resist one more volley.  
  
"I'd like to see that." He said. "That should prove interesting."  
  
"Like you, the pillow wouldn't be able to translate my words into anything he could put to use, though." Joker pulled the covers further over himself, hearing the approaching footsteps and trying not to care.   
  
"If I'm not putting it to use then why am I getting to you?" Bruce asked smugly as he sauntered over.  
  
"Shut up," Joker snapped. "You aren't getting to me." He rolled onto his stomach and pouted.   
  
Bruce sat on the bed and leaned slowly over to the Joker, grasping the green curl in the middle of his forehead and pulling down on it to stretch it out.  
  
"A few minutes ago you couldn't keep your hands off me."  
  
"Don't insult me," Joker answered softly. He didn't move to pull away, but didn't bother to turn and acknoweledge Bruce, either.   
  
"Insult you?! Why would I do that?" Bruce replied playfully. To punctuate the sentence, he let go of the Joker's curl so it bounced back up against his head.   
  
Joker growled and brushed at his hair with a quick flash of white... before his hand vanished under the sheet. "Because you can. Because you think it's funny that I want to be close to you."   
  
"Wasn't it *you* who told me I needed to have a better sense of humor?" Bruce asked, poking the Joker's nose.  
  
Joker pushed back the sheets and sat upright. He glared at Bruce, every hint of compassion vanished from his shards of emerald. "Not about things like that." He tried really hard to ignore the lingering sensation of something on his nose, but ended up brushing at it anyway. For the first time in weeks, he assumed the look of his domineering, viciously psycopathic persona. Not even his voice betrayed the feelings in his throat. "If you're going to sit around and poke fun of me, you may as well stop speaking with me. I haven't the patience for it. Let me die in peace."   
  
He paused and then added softly, "Batman doesn't have a sense of humor."   
  
Bruce sat up and backed off, WAY off.  
  
"Hey, Batman's not here anymore, remember? Come on Jack, settle down. I'm just playing with you."  
  
Not good. Psycho Joker not good.  
  
"Oh, excuse me," Joker said with a rising tint of aggression. "I was having trouble telling the difference. Pretty boy equals Bruce. Pointed ears equals Batman. Right. Got it, now." His last three words were said with lowered eyebrows. "I don't WANT you to 'play' with me. I want you to talk and love me or to treat me like you always have. Beat me, handcuff me and throw me away. Both things do not make a good combination. Which is it going to be?"   
  
He had to refrain from clenching his fists... and dug his nails into his legs, instead.   
  
Bruce blinked a few times, then scooted into the center of the bed.  
  
"Hey, come on! I didn't mean to upset you!" He said, prying the Joker's hands away from the fragile skin of his legs. "I thought I was doing what you wanted me to do! I'm sorry. If you want to talk, we'll talk, just. . . I can do that, sure."  
  
He rubbed the thumb of his right hand into the Joker's left palm.  
  
Joker swallowed hard and tried to relax. He was backing himself into a corner... pushing away from what he wanted. But it was so easy to do with the B-... with Bruce around. "I was wrong. You have a sense of humor... a very harsh, distancing sense of humor." He made a face and then tried at smiling.   
  
"Well, it's a start, right?" He said with a sad smile. "I'm not quite so appealing without the mask to you, am I?"  
  
"You don't care either way, so I won't answer your question," Joker explained warily. He looked downward and sulked, his entire form sinking into the mattress. He waited a beat and then glanced at Bruce's hand holding his, massaging his palm slowly.   
  
"Why do you think I don't care?" Blue eyes blinked rapidly as Bruce wrestled with the turn things had taken. The irony of it wasn't lost on him.   
  
Joker shrugged and refused to answer. He was feeling miserable. "Is it hot in here?" he asked suddenly. He looked back up at Bruce and frowned, the sickness apparent in his expression. He closed his eyes and took in a deep breath, having detected a strange feeling in his eyes... as though he were getting too emotional.   
  
"No. It's cold." Bruce grumbled and pulled his hand away. "I'm trying here Jack. You're not making this easy."  
  
Joker sighed and laid down, curling up fetally. "You're appealing with or without the mask," Joker finally answered. "I get the feeling you don't care because you poke so much fun at it... or belittle my feelings by brushing them aside. You aren't making this easy, either."   
  
"Okay, three weeks ago you were trying to kill me, so I'm going through an adjustment period." Bruce said, not knowing what to do with himself. "I don't. . . when you say you want me to. . . what do you mean by 'love you' exactly?"  
  
"Exactly like what it means when it comes from anyone else," Joker sighed. He blinked twice and tried not to notice the stiffening sensation in his limbs. "'I love you' is hard to misinterprate. I assure you... there are no hidden meanings."   
  
"I love Di-. . . my son in a different way than I loved Ta-. . . certain women in my life." Bruce said, tripping over names as he tried to avoid bringing up specific people. "That's the distinction I'm asking for."  
  
Joker felt his tongue move to speak before his brain thought to be careful, but luckily he managed to cut himself off completely before saying something stupid. He ran his finger along the sheet and stared at it, afraid to meet Bruce's eyes. "I suppose that I love you the second way, then. The... way one does when desiring another so badly it hurts."   
  
Bruce sighed and bowed his head. He was afraid that was what the answer would be. How was he going to respond to that?  
  
"Umm. . ." He began, then cleared his throat, not sure what to say. "I. . . Um. . . damn. . . I don't know what to say." He stammered.  
  
The Joker closed his eyes and cut Bruce off with, "Then don't say anything. I don't wanna hear anything from you. I asked to spend the rest of my days happily... So just... don't."   
  
"No no. You don't understand." Bruce protested miserably.  
  
"Yes, I do." Joker rolled over and coughed lightly.   
  
"No! I'm just confused! I don't know what to think!" Bruce explained before being distracted by the image on the computer screen changing.  
  
"Damn it." He hissed and headed over to check out what had come in.  
  
"You never do," Joker whispered to himself. He waited to hear what was wrong... but then grew impatient and asked, "One of my friends out causing trouble, tonight?"   
  
"Define 'friend'." Batman said, absorbing the information. "I don't believe you and Ms. Isley get along."  
  
"What?!" Joker demanded. "The WEED?!" He sat up and snarled, climbing out of the bed. "You're going to beat her within an inch of her life, right? Hit her in the stomach? Throw her into a wildfire?"   
  
"I take it she's not a friend." Batman said with a slight smirk. "And the wildfire's out." He shook his head. "Wonderful. She had help too."  
  
"Don't tell me," Joker pleaded. "Please, don't tell me it's who I think it is. Because I'll kill-..." He closed his hands over his face and turned away. "Why can't we do the wildfire?"   
  
"'Cause we don't do killin', Mista J." Bats said flatly. "Does that count as not telling you?"  
  
"I hate you both," Joker responded. He folded his arms and pouted. "Fine. Go play with the girls. Have fun."   
  
"I'm hurt." Batman said, more comfortable but less happy with 'I hate you' than 'I love you'. "And you're going with me."  
  
"I am MOST certainly NOT going with you. And you KNOW I was joking. Although I'm beginning to think I sh- nevermind. Go suit up and do your flying rodent thing." He waved his hand over his shoulder, trying his best to dismiss the situation entirely.  
  
"And leave you alone here... angry? I don't think so." Batman replied as he headed back to where the uniforms were kept, retrieving his newer cowl from the car where Joker had left it. "Besides, you need to get out, I think."  
  
And perhaps, just perhaps, seeing Harley would make Joker reconsider the whole love thing before he himself had to.  
  
"I'm not angry. I'm hurt. I'm confused. And I'm feeling tired." He folded his arms defiantly, turned to look at Bruce, and set his face in stone. "Besides, I'm wearing pajamas."   
  
"So?" Batman responded. "You'll stay in the car. And I'm angry, confused and tired, and I have to go to work."  
  
Joker shook his head decisively. "No."   
  
"You're going." Batman's tone didn't leave much room for debate.  
  
Joker narrowed his eyes dangerously. He took a step backward into the cave's shadows, purposefully giving the worst kind of look he could muster. "Make me," he hissed.   
  
"I give up. Fine." Batman said, exasperated. "I'll see you when I get back." He turned and headed for the car, feeling more than a little disappointed.  
  
* 


	18. Wear & Tear

(Author's Note: If you've read Chapter 17, go back and read the VERY end of it again. It was changed to make room for the way this next chapter happens.)  
  
Chapter 18 - Wear & Tear  
  
Worried green eyes neglected to blink, staring at the farthest reach of the Batcave they could see.   
  
When was he coming back? It had been hours, now.   
  
Joker was beginning to think Batman was in trouble. Sure, he'd never had to wait at home for him, but... things had changed drastically, lately. It could've been him out there, making the Batman's life miserable. It could've been him with another grand scheme, killing or maiming people at random.   
  
It bothered Joker that Batman was out there by himself, fighting against somebody he hated. What if Batman never CAME back? What if tonight he died?   
  
If Batman died tonight, so would Poison Ivy. Joker would be sure of it. He clenched his fists and fell back onto the bed, too worn to stand any longer. He'd just finished pacing the ledge, again. Very quickly, the computer had lost his interest. And more quickly after that, playing with the various Batsuits kept nearby. Nothing was as fun as the real thing.   
  
Joker sighed and pouted, fidgeting again.   
  
A soft roar began in the distance, but gained volume and aggressiveness quickly. A dim orange light glowed in the depths of the tunnel leading from the cave to the surface. In a matter of seconds, the Batmobile whipped around the corner and wildly careened into the cave.  
  
The car screeched to a halt and the engine died.  
  
And then nothing. The cave was silent except for a few clicks as the engine cooled down.  
  
"Batman?" Joker stood up slowly, his eyes wide in hope. He made his way toward the car and pressed timid fingers against the glass, as though to push it. "B-Bruce? Are you in there?"   
  
The only response Joker received was a dull wet thud on the other side of the window.  
  
"Bruce?!" Joker hit the window a few times, bending over it nervously. "Hey... hey, wake up!" He peered to see through the glass, but couldn't... as always. "Aw, man... how do I open this thing?" He walked around the car once and hit the window again.   
  
There were some scuffling sounds from inside the car and a few moments later, the door opened a little. A tiny red droplet fell onto the floor of the cave.  
  
Joker hurried over to the door and pulled it open, aghast with horror when he was met by the sight of blood along the seat and window. "Bruce?" he asked again. "Oh, don't be hurt. That isn't very clever of you." He reached in and tapped Batman on the shoulder, hesitant to do so for fear of being lashed out against.   
  
Slowly, Batman reached out and grabbed the Joker's arm.  
  
"Help me out." He said weakly.  
  
"Of course." Joker reached in and hooked an arm under Batman's, trying to guide him out of the car. With his own weakened state, it was difficult, and he wasn't really doing much good. "Are you okay? I mean... you aren't badly injured, are you? Was it Ivy?" He strained to hold Batman's considerably heavy body upright.   
  
"Remember how we were talking. . . about getting shot?" Batman struggled with the words as he dragged himself out of the car. As he stood, blood gushed anew from a deep wound in his thigh, and a gash in his neck.  
  
"Y-yes?" Joker couldn't understand what Batman was talking about. What did their conversation have to do with it? He was very quickly growing anxious, not enjoying the look of red on Batman's body one single bit. "Lay down," he instructed, trying to make him go toward the bed.   
  
Batman shook his head, wincing. He was leaving a trail of bloody footprints as he staggered away from the car. "Get Alfred." He said firmly, adjusting his grip on the Joker and revealing a bloody handprint in the process.  
  
Joker frowned and forced Batman down onto the bed. It wasn't very hard to do, considering the circumstances. "Stay here, then." He turned and hurried off, glancing over his shoulder to be sure Batman hadn't moved. "Stay," he ordered a second time. Quickly, he retreated up the stairs and into the Manor, hesitant to really penetrate a place he'd never been allowed into... especially by himself.   
  
"Ummm... Alfred?" Joker called timidly. "Alfred?!" Joker pushed through the grandfather clock and into the library.   
  
"Can I help you?" The butler asked dryly from the end of the hallway.  
  
Joker glared angrily, his expression intimidating. He wanted to lash out and demand respect, feeling the old habit bubbling inside his chest. Shaking his head, he tried suppressing it. "You can help HIM," Joker answered, his voice restricted. "HE is in pain and bleeding all over your nicely polished Batcave."   
  
Alfred sighed, trying not to let the fact that there was a homicidal maniac in the Manor faze him. "Again? Very well." Coolly, he headed toward the study, pausing only momentarily when he was about to pass the Joker.  
  
He was getting too old for this.  
  
Joker growled angrily and snatched Alfred's collar. "How can you be so DISTANT?!" He yanked the older man downward into the Batcave, dragging him along the stairs as he went. "Hurry it UP!" he hissed. At the bottom, he let go and pointed with a quick jerk of his left hand. "Go. Help. Him."   
  
The old butler shook with fear, but he stepped back and adjusted his clothing before making his way over to the bed. Bruce was struggling to breathe, and he'd pulled the cowl off to get more air.  
  
"Had fun tonight, did we?" He sniffed as he started to look his patient over.  
  
"Left leg. Outer thigh. Bullet's still in there." Bruce gasped.  
  
"Of course it is." Alfred replied. "This should be interesting, Master Bruce. Your little tantrum destroyed some of my medical equipment as well as whatever you were intending to break."  
  
"I'm not in the mood, Alfred." Bruce said through gritted teeth.  
  
"You never are, sir." With that, the butler set about rounding up the instruments he'd need to extract the bullet.  
  
Joker stood nearby, his expression shifting every few seconds. It went from rage to concern in fleeting seconds, unable to settle on one particular emotion. He began pacing soon after. It must have been Harley. It had to be.   
  
Which meant she had to pay.   
  
Alfred gathered up whatever he could find and returned to the bed.   
  
"Turn over onto your right side, please." He instructed. Bruce struggled to comply.  
  
Twenty feet onto the bridge leading out of the Batcave, Joker was making his way along, winded and feeling faint from all the moving around. His brow was lowered in anger, intense with the need to avenge the blood on his clothing.   
  
A cry of pain echoed through the cave. With a clank, the bullet fell into the pan Alfred had found.  
  
"Where's Joker?" Bruce asked, his eyes squeezed shut against the pain.  
  
Alfred looked around but couldn't see the clown.  
  
"I really don't know, Master Bruce." He said as he started the sutures.  
  
Bruce's eyes snapped open. "What?"  
  
Without stopping, Joker started up the next path toward the cave opening.   
  
"Hurry up, Alfred!" Bruce snapped impatiently.  
  
"Hurrying, sir." Alfred muttered, continuing the stitches.  
  
There was a sound of scuffling as the Joker tripped and tried regaining balance, finding his body increasingly unwilling to comply with his demands of it. "Come on!" he snarled to himself, clawing at the ground before making his way back up to his feet.   
  
Bruce was on his feet before Alfred had even trimmed the last stitch.  
  
"JOKER!"  
  
The rage-filled Prince of Crime neglected to answer, furthering his climb up out of the Batcave.   
  
Bruce growled in frustration, then closed his eyes, motioning for Alfred to be silent. If he couldn't see the Joker, he might be able to hear him.  
  
Joker tripped again and grunted in pain, one hand slipping out over the edge. He jerked it back quickly, already moving to get up again.   
  
*Gotcha.* Bruce thought. His heart was pounding violently in his chest, and he felt a little dizzy, but all things considered, he didn't feel too bad. Guess that gas Ivy had nailed him with hadn't done very much. At least that had gone his way, even though the gas mask in his cowl wasn't working.  
  
He grabbed a new cowl and headed into the tunnel after the Joker.  
  
"Go 'way!" Joker called over his shoulder, feeling the approach of Batman. "I have things to do!" He took two more steps before collapsing a third time.   
  
Bruce felt a funny twinge in the back of his head and his vision went wavy. Despite this, he managed to catch up to Joker and grab him from behind.  
  
"Let go," Joker mumbled. He pushed weakly against Batman and struggled to stand up.   
  
"You don't want me to let go." Batman said. He paused, confused: where had that come from?  
  
"No, I want to wring Harley's neck," Joker hissed. He pushed again and then stared up at the cowl. "Why're you wearing that silly thing?"   
  
"Because I didn't have time to change and I wasn't sure if you'd made it outside." Bruce explained. "You're leaving me for Harley, huh? I'm hurt."  
  
He blinked behind the cowl. He was acting really oddly.  
  
"Leaving you?" Joker questioned. "I can't leave someone who doesn't want me around." He frowned and crossed his arms over his purple pajama-covered chest.   
  
"But I DO want you around. I thought we were friends." Bruce responded quickly and emphatically. As he spoke, he grabbed Joker firmly by the shoulder. "Don't leave. Please?"  
  
"Uh..." Joker scratched at the side of his head nervously and then winced. He had to remember not to do that. "O-okay. I guess." He let his arms drop and released a long breath. His resolve faded and disappeared, Harley forgotten for the moment.   
  
"Good." Batman said, letting his hand slide down to the Joker's elbow. He gave it a tug. "Come back in then."  
  
"Fine." Joker started walking back down the sloping entrance to the cave, trying to remind himself he needed to do Harley in, later.   
  
"So can we stop fighting, please?" Batman asked conversationally. "It's really wearing me out."  
  
"Mhmm," Joker answered simply. He wondered in the back of his mind at Batman's behavior, thinking it odd that he was so... eager to be nice all of a sudden.   
  
"I have to ask you something." Batman said, putting his arm around the Joker's shoulders. "When you were messing around with my cowl, did anything come loose or get damaged?"  
  
Joker shook his head a few times and then leaned in against Batman. "No. Why?"   
  
"Because the air filter in it didn't work tonight. Ivy hit me with some green gas. It didn't seem to do anything at the time, but now I'm feeling. . . not myself." As he said this, Batman stumbled a little, but quickly regained his footing. "Might be the blood loss, but I've never had quite these effects before."  
  
"Awww... I'm sorry." Joker twitched a little in Batman's arms, quickly becomming enraged again.   
  
Ivy. Joker hissed something under his breath. Harley. His arms shook briefly with contained emotion.   
  
Those. Detestable. Women!  
  
"I don't think it's really anything to worry about. Gases tend to take fairly short periods to run the course of their effects. And the fact that I'm still conscious is a. . ."  
  
As if on cue, the edges of his vision shimmered black and he stumbled again.  
  
"Okaaay, spoke too soon." He ammended, sounding a bit drunk. "Do me a favor and don't let me pass. . ."  
  
Before he could finish the sentence, he slid down onto the floor.  
  
"Bruce," Joker chided. He sighed and pressed his fingers into his temples, trying to keep himself calm long enough to do what he needed to do. With measured steps, he made his way back down into the Batcave, retrieved the blanket... and then walked back to the collapsed man. "Here," he said calmly, letting it drop down over him.   
  
Joker paused and then took a few extra moments to lovingly tuck it under his body, keeping him warm - as though Batman would care.   
  
After another long while, Joker frowned and laid down a few feet away, watching him quietly as he argued mentally about the demise of his former henchwench.   
  
A while later...  
  
A groan came from Bruce and he started to move again, feeling like a pile of hell. He started to sit up, but that wasn't going to happen quite yet it seemed. He slumped back downward.  
  
"Awake, I see." Joker propped himself up on the terribly uncomfortable floor and watched.   
  
"You could say that." Batman grumbled, lifting his head a little.  
  
As simply as the Joker could manage, he answered with, "I could."   
  
Batman's head dropped back onto the ground. "Don't screw with me, Jack. I'm not in the mood."  
  
In an impressive display of mind over matter, he lurched himself to a sitting position. The wound in his leg, however, wasn't happy about that.  
  
Joker wanted to spit back, "I can't - you won't let me," but refrained and smirked instead. He sat up as well, but leaned on the wall opposite of Batman.   
  
Batman winced, grabbing at his leg. He glanced at the Joker for a moment, then chuckled. "We make one sorry pair right now, don't we?"  
  
"We aren't a pair," Joker grumbled. He stood up and hobbled off toward the Cave, his head and limbs making subtle movements by themselves... as though he were losing control over them, bit by bit. A soft whimper of pain came from him as he vanished from Batman's sight, resting down onto the bed he'd grown used to inhabiting. Batman's medications weren't working as well anymore. Each time the pain was drowned out in less noticable amounts... and each time it returned more quickly. Joker figured he didn't have a lot of time left before it was constant. He didn't want to encourage it.   
  
Batman growled in frustration, then sighed. Joker wasn't going to be happy unless he played at their relationship being some epic romance.  
  
Was wanting a friend really so much to ask? He didn't want the stresses of that dynamic. He wanted someone he could talk to, spill his guts to, really know. . .  
  
And for Christ's sake, he wasn't gay! . . . Was he? Blood loss made things very murky.  
  
He staggered to his feet and used the wall for support as he made his way back to the cave. Automatically, as he'd done so many times before, he stumbled over to the bed and collapsed onto it.  
  
Joker resisted his urge to hit the person behind him. His nerves were all frayed, confusing his thoughts as they spilled through his mind one after the other. It was getting to be a challenge even to think! He clenched his fists under his arms and tensed up, willing himself to remain silent.   
  
Bruce, semi-conscious, pulled the cowl off and slowly wriggled out of the batsuit, then climbed under the covers of the bed. He was aware of the Joker's presence, but was too weak and light-headed to care. He just needed sleep, and he wasn't going to make it upstairs. The Joker could draw his own conclusions.   
  
After a while, Joker noticed that Bruce settled and his breathing steadied itself out. He sat up and winced when the bed creaked, but climbed up out of bed anyway. Cold and unsettling forest-colored eyes studied the outline of the other man, noting that he'd stripped and tossed his suit to the floor.   
  
He must've been exhausted.   
  
Determined not to put up with being near the man that made him so upset, Joker crawled out of bed and folded his arms, dragging his feet as he walked across the cave. Much like an angry child, he settled into the desk chair and pouted, trying his best to fall asleep.   
  
...but...   
  
Joker yawned and scratched his neck, turning to look back at the bed. Bruce was so big. And warm. And naked.   
  
Seconds later, the white-skinned man was scrambling back into bed, eagerly searching for a way under the covers. He slinked down inside, pulled the sheets up over him and then scooted in toward Bruce.   
  
* 


	19. Deeper Levels

Chapter 19 - Deeper Levels  
  
Bruce awoke slowly, but the dull throbbing pain in his leg made him reluctant to become fully conscious. The pain in his head didn't help things much either. He opened one eye a little, scouting things out before becoming officially awake.  
  
Batcave. Everything normal.  
  
He opened his eyes and blinked a few times, then tried to move his leg. He groaned as the aching stiffness in the limb objected to his disturbance of it.  
  
"You slept a long time," a familiar voice commented. Beside Bruce sat the Joker, his legs crossed and his elbows leaning on them as he watched his friend. "Eight hours, infact. Not like you, is it?"   
  
"Has it been eight hours?" Bruce mumbled. He rolled onto his back and gingerly tried to pull himself to a sitting position. He was definitely not a morning person. "No. That's not normal."  
  
"Are you feeling better?" Joker perked his head to the side curiously, watching as Bruce hefted his body upward.   
  
Bruce winced, feeling the stitches tug. "Define better."  
  
"Mmmmmm, nope. I don't think I want to." Joker grinned and looked generally cheerful, though his actual body looked worse all around.   
  
"Fine, then I don't have to answer." Bruce grumbled.  
  
"Ohhh, be a sour-puss, will you?" With a soft giggle, Joker pulled himself forward and poked a finger into Bruce's forehead. "Better... I define it as... not feeling nearly so bent outta shape as last night."   
  
"Then no. . ." Bruce answered, pausing to pull himself up against the headboard. "I don't feel better. It never feels better the next day."  
  
Joker couldn't shrug the grin on his face, although he did feel bad for Bruce. After pausing a beat, he went back to digging at his nails like he'd been doing before his friend had come to. And... if Bruce were to look closely enough, he'd recognize the color of red on Joker's right hand.   
  
Bruce absently glanced at the Joker's hands, his eyes drawn to the movement. He looked away again before the information registered.  
  
His head snapped back again and he grabbed at the Joker's wrists. "What did you do?"  
  
Joker's dark eyes widened, catching a flash of light before being blocked out by the Batman's form. "N-nothing," the clown mumbled. He winced a little bit as the pain registered in his consciousness, and then asked, "Let go of me? It hurts. You're squeezing too hard." A trickle of blood ran down the finger closest to Bruce's face.   
  
Bruce eased up his grip, but he kept hold of the Joker's hand. His eyes narrowed questioningly.  
  
"I had to clean my nails," Joker stated calmly.   
  
"By ripping them out?" Bruce snapped.  
  
Joker frowned and looked at his nails. "No, they're still there."   
  
"Why do you do things like this?" Bruce's voice was plaintive.  
  
A guilty expression formed over Joker's eyes as he listened to the question. He searched for an answer, comparing the right hand to his left... the bloodied nails to the clean ones... and struggled to form something that made sense. "I... I... was nervous."  
  
"Why?"   
  
Joker shrugged once and averted his eyes. "I don't know. You made me upset. I'm sorry. I won't do it again." He hid his hand behind his back and tried searching for something to make him pull his smile back up.   
  
He couldn't find anything.   
  
"I was asleep. How could I have made you anything?" Bruce inquired.  
  
"So what're we eating tonight?"   
  
Another frustrated growl. "Fingers, apparently."  
  
"Ooooh, yummy!" Joker went to clap his hands, but paused and hid his right again. His eager smile faded once more.   
  
Bruce shook his head. "I don't understand you sometimes. . . most of the time."  
  
"It's okay. I don't understand YOU at all!" Joker chuckled and tilted sideways, his entire frame going with his head. "Kidding, you know."   
  
Bruce slowly tilted his head to match the Joker's eyeline. "What purpose does sitting like this serve?"  
  
Joker shrugged and then blinked once, his expression changing to serene giddiness afterward. "It's fun to do!" He scrunched up his nose and then launched a play-attack on Bruce, his coordination off... and entirely unsuccessful. He landed face-first in the blankets, and couldn't help but giggle as he leaned up on his elbows. Now about two inches from Bruce, he batted his eyes quickly. "Lots of fun."   
  
"That was graceful." Bruce muttered, trying to stay cool.  
  
"Like you'd do any better," Joker growled. He tried not to laugh, but found the task nearby impossible, and giggled instead. Further interested in play, he head-butted Bruce's knee.   
  
Bruce winced. He had to pick that knee. "Please don't do that."  
  
"Why not?" Joker rolled onto his back and stared up at the taller man.   
  
"'Cause it hurts. . . should I get you a ball of string to play with?"  
  
Joker shook his head a few times, very decisively. "Nah, I'm fine." He continued to stare.   
  
Bruce blinked slowly, looking down at the Joker, not sure what to make of this new personality wrinkle. "Comfy?"  
  
"In your lap? Of course!" Joker squirmed up a little for punctuation, resting his head on Bruce's leg. "So, did you do any dreaming last night?"  
  
"No. Not last night." Bruce said, feeling a strange and unfamiliar sensation spread through his body due to the Joker's nearness. "I don't dream often, but that's usually because I don't sleep much. When I do dream, they're not often pleasant."  
  
His hand moved, seemingly on it's own, and started playing with the Joker's hair.  
  
"I just keep reliving the night my parents were killed. Small details have changed over the years, but it's always the same basic dream, except for the few times that I've been affected by Scarecrow's fear toxin or the like."  
  
"I was thinking about that a while ago." Joker closed his eyes and gestured briefly with his left hand. "About your parents. I can't... imagine the way you must feel about that. I find it hard to imagine losing much of anything... seeing as I can't remember my own life." Joker sighed, momentarily let-down about the fact. "I dreamed last night."   
  
Strong fingers dragged along the Joker's scalp and that all-too-familiar deep voice asked, "About what?"  
  
"Arkham," Joker whispered. He opened his eyes to look upward, searching Bruce's expression to make sense of him. A shiver followed the fingers in his hair, soothing his off-centered mood.   
  
Bruce nodded thoughtfully, looking at nothing in particular. His fingers started twisting in loops around the Joker's curls and both his expression and his voice had a far away quality.  
  
"What happened in the dream?"  
  
An immediate flush of color passed over Joker's face as he remembered the dream so very clearly. He looked away and focused his concentration on Bruce's fingers. "All the things that happen there."   
  
"Bad dreams, then."  
  
"Yeah. Bad dreams."   
  
"I'm sorry. I really didn't know how bad it was there." The movements of Bruce's hand had fallen into a steady, almost hypnotic rhythm, circling the Joker's scalp.  
  
"You still don't fully understand it. You won't ever understand it." Joker sighed and reached up to take Bruce's idle hand in both of his. He smiled faintly and massaged the palm.   
  
"We all have our crosses to bear." Bruce murmured, his blue eyes dulling until they were almost grey. "Do you want to tell me about it?"  
  
"Maybe later," Joker answered softly. "I'm not in the mood for reliving helplessness." He added a little more pressure to his gentle massaging of Bruce's hand.   
  
"When is anyone ever in the mood for that?" Bruce asked, his hand curling a little in response to the Joker's touch. "I've been running from that very thing all my life. Why do you think I started this whole vigilante thing? It wasn't entirely about revenge, not even at first. It was about never being helpless again. But no matter how many criminals I catch and how many bones I break, I still feel like a victim, and I hate it."  
  
His hand squeezed around a handful of the Joker's hair as he fought off the memories that were threatening to torment him again.  
  
Joker caught his breath in his throat and eased out of Bruce's grip. With a gentle look to his eyes, he climbed into Bruce's lap and made himself comfortable, laying down on his side there. "I get what you're saying. But I'm talking about more of a physical situation than mental. It doesn't matter, I suppose. It's all one in the same." He reached down for the large hand resting nearby and pulled it in close to his chest.   
  
"When my back was broken I could barely move." Bruce said quietly. "I've never felt so physically helpless in all my life. I hated it. I don't know that I've ever really recovered from that."  
  
"Shhh," Joker urged. "Let's try not to be depressing, tonight. Kay?" He turned and met eyes with the blue ones up above him. "We can do all that later. I just want to be with you." He pressed himself in closer.   
  
Bruce nodded slowly, then closed his eyes and rested his head back against the headboard. He was trying to keep his 'rational' mind from engaging. He took slow, measured breaths, and tried to think of nothing.  
  
Joker shifted yet again, sitting up in Bruce's lap. He held his breath and studied the other man's features, bringing his left hand up to explore the base of his neck gingerly.   
  
Bruce shivered at the Joker's touch. He felt an inexplicable fear rise up in him, and he stayed quiet and still, afraid of lashing out.  
  
"You get so quiet," Joker murmured softly. "One would imagine that you're doing a lot of thinking." He couldn't help but lean in closer as he fingered the hollow of Bruce's throat.   
  
A reflex cough made Bruce twitch as it reawakened the pain in his leg. "Trying. . ." He paused and cleared his throat. "Not to think."  
  
"Interesting." Joker's eyes gleamed with a devious nature as he chewed on his lower lip. After throwing out all sense, he leaned in and pressed his lips to the skin his fingers had just parted from.   
  
A soft, uncomfortable whimper squeaked out of Bruce's throat. He felt locked up again, the way he'd felt in Arkham. He couldn't move, couldn't speak, but his mind was flying through a myriad of thoughts, some rational, some not, some related and some total nonsequiters.  
  
He'd never wanted to just stop thinking so much in his life.  
  
The noise that vibrated under Joker's lips and broke the silence did nothing but encourage him. He pressed in a little more and reached up to stroke the hair on the back of Bruce's neck. He delivered another kiss soon afterward, this time a little higher.   
  
Bruce squeezed his eyes shut and every muscle in his body tensed. This caused the wound in his leg to send waves of pain up into his hip and across his stomach. He gritted his teeth and groaned against it.  
  
Why was this scaring him so much?  
  
"Relax," Joker said teasingly. "You're not wearing that silly cape anymore... remember?" He trailed a finger up over Bruce's chest and then let it join the other at the back of his head. Joker smiled to himself and nuzzled up against his friend's face. "I won't hurt you. I don't have a gun in my hand or poison in my clothes. Not even a buzzer... see?" Thin hands pressed into Bruce's hair.  
  
"What. . . are you going to do?" Bruce managed to ask, not sure whether he wanted an answer.   
  
"Don't be silly, Brucie." Joker mock-pouted, tinting his voice with a feminine luster. "Probably exactly what you're thinking." He tugged at him a little and leaned backward. "C'mon. You don't want to feel helpless...? Let me empower you."   
  
Bruce's incredulity gave him the courage to open his eyes. His expression conveyed an almost cartoonish sense of disbelief.  
  
"What are you talking about?"  
  
Joker grinned and stretched out on his back lazily, reaching his arms up for Bruce. "Come down here with me. Please? Just try and let yourself feel." The thin fingers curled and beckoned for him, dusting over his shoulders eagerly.   
  
Bruce winced at the mere thought of moving, but to his surprise, his body had already started to slide down the headboard.  
  
*Try and let yourself feel.* Didn't the Joker understand that was the hardest thing in the world for him to do?  
  
Joker cooed softly, trying to urge the Dark Knight to sink all the way down into the bed. He sat up and crawled back over Bruce, lifting the covers to climb underneath them. With a sort of domineering manner, he sat on Bruce's stomach and pressed his hands into his chest. "Have I told you I think you're beautiful?" he asked playfully. "Because you are." He bent over and kissed Bruce's chin, the fingers of his right hand burying themselves into his dark hair.   
  
Bruce swallowed loudly. "Yes. You have." He answered in a whisper. He noticed his breath coming in insistent bursts, his chest actually moving the Joker a little with each harsh breath.  
  
*This must be how Harley feels when she's near me,* Joker mused, comparing the feelings in his body to what he gathered from his henchwench's responses. A warmth settled in his stomach and made him impatient, desiring more contact than he was getting. The quivering of Bruce's chest under his hand drove him almost to the edge of his willpower, and he felt his breathing speed up to match it.   
  
"Can I... touch you?" he asked timidly, remembering that person under him was not somebody to be abused and tossed aside... it was somebody he took care in trying to be near. Somebody who might... return that care... if provoked.   
  
"Isn't that what you've been doing?" Bruce responded with a slightly defensive tone as he looked down at the Joker's hands. He saw the damage he'd inflicted on one of them again. It was so sad. He flinched and resigned himself to the situation. "Yes, if that will make you happy."  
  
"I just want to make you happy," Joker mumbled, engaging Bruce in a gentle kiss. His left hand strayed, wandering down over the sleek stomach beneath him. Sitting on Bruce wasn't going to work for much longer, as he was blocking himself off from what he really wanted. Joker raised his weight up from Bruce and then shifted, stretching his body out into a laying position, instead. He smiled faintly, trying to further the kiss without ruining what he'd been able to work up to so far. An eager hand found its way to the tender flesh of his friend's nipple, closing over it in a possessive manner. A brief impulse told Joker to pull away... but he reminded himself that they were past - far past - beating each other senseless.   
  
Bruce grabbed the Joker's wrist and pulled his intrusive hand away, not being comfortable with that. . . yet. As a compromise, he decided not to break the kiss.  
  
No one had to know about this. What would it really hurt?  
  
He considered that thinking about things 'hurting' wasn't a good idea at present.  
  
A low growl passed between Joker's lips as all of a sudden, his entire frame tensed up. In a flash of pure aggression, his arm snapped away, breaking out of Bruce's hold.   
  
Nobody had ever accused the Joker of being a patient man.   
  
At this point, Batman took over for Bruce Wayne. His hand snatched up the Joker's wrist again and grabbed the other one as well, then shook the thin man, hard. He was NOT going to be taken advantage of this way. He was NOT going to be manipulated. The Joker was NOT going to get off on his fear.  
  
Joker hissed and clenched both fists, not minding the throb of pain in his right fingers as he did so. They could be ignored. This ARROGANCE could not be!   
  
*Wait. What am I thinking...?* The clown blinked a few times, his eyes clearing of hatred.   
  
But it HURT, dammit! "Stop it!" he demanded, pushing his arms downward into Bruce's hands. "You aren't playing fair!" His teeth ground together anxiously, making enough noise to be noticable. "You were supposed to be in a good mood! Stop trying to trick me!"   
  
*Gawd, put yourself on hold,* Joker scolded himself mentally. *Can you hear what you sound like?*   
  
"I'm trying to trick *you*?" Bruce demanded incredulously. "Maybe if I thought you gave a damn whether or not I wanted this too I'd be in a better mood!"  
  
"I hate you!" Joker shrieked all of a sudden... and then went perfectly silent. His face lost all rage, and melted down into nothing. "No, I don't... I love you. I couldn't hate you if my li-..." He sighed and trailed off. With an almost defeated sound to his voice, he said, "I hate Joker. I hate him!" Louder, and much more angrily, he raged, "I hate my scrawny neck and my bleached out skin! I hate everything I've ever thought or said or felt because it's only succeeded in KILLING ME!" He fought to get out of Bruce's arms, trying to sit up while battling his will to break down and throw a hissy fit on the mattress. "Don't you tell me I don't care! I sacrificed myself to get close to you! I sacrificed my freedom, my personal thoughts, my BODY of which you INJURED... and MY LIFE! I've given you ALL I CAN GIVE! What more do you have to take from me before I can just... be... Jack?"   
  
Bruce's eyes narrowed. "Are you trying to tell me you're dying for me?" His tone implied strongly that the Joker's answer had better be 'no'.  
  
Joker stood up on the bed, pulling the sheets with him before they fell down around his ankles, and moved to leave. "No. I'm dying because of you."   
  
Bruce sunk into himself and pulled his knees up to his chest, not caring that it hurt. He hugged his legs and rested his head on his arms. He couldn't deny that. He had another death on his head. When was this going to stop?  
  
"Oh, what's this?" Joker hissed. He set one foot after the other on the ground and then turned to glare at Bruce. "Going to cry, now? It's about damned time. It had to happen someday. May as well be the day I've decided I'm not sure I want to care, anymore. All I'm trying to do is show you that it doesn't have to HURT to feel love for someone. All YOU can seem to do is get angry and abusive. I swear. If it wasn't for the bit about mummy and daddy being dead, I'd think you were neglected, locked away in attics and raped with brooms."   
  
He put two tense hands on his hips and tilted them slightly. "Don't pretend to care about me. I'm not going to fall for your charms this time. I thought I believed you, before. I thought maybe - just MAYBE - I'd have a chance at being sated for just ONE moment in my miserable existence. But noooooooooooo! Not with dear old Batsy around! Can't happen, CAN IT?! Well, that's just peachy-keen with me, dearest. See that corner over there?" Joker pointed. "I'm going to go occupy it. Come and fetch me when you've grown up an inch."   
  
But when Bruce didn't growl, speak or even move behind him, Joker stopped and tilted his head to look. A long sigh broke the air of rage, and he settled down onto the cave floor. "Why do you do this?" he whispered. "Why do you play this game of yo-yo with my affections? I hate seeing you like this... almost more than I hate your butler."   
  
Joker waited a beat for comical effect, and then crawled over toward the bed, leaned on it and stared imploringly at Bruce. "Tell me you want me to leave and I will."   
  
Bruce shook his head almost imperceptably against his arms. He didn't want Joker to leave, even though he knew that his time with the Joker was limited.  
  
In the silence that followed, he gave up. He wasn't going to get out of this without being completely emotionally destroyed, so why not just give the Joker what he wanted? What he wanted, what he was comfortable with, none of it mattered. All that mattered was trying to atone for destroying yet another life.  
  
One mistake. It had only been one mistake. But he wasn't allowed to make mistakes.  
  
Without lifting his head, he reached out a hand to the Joker.  
  
"What?" Joker gestured to Bruce's hand as though he could care less about it, and stood up. "I want to hear something from you."  
  
Bruce sighed and squeezed his hand into a fist, then slowly let his hand open again.  
  
"Come here. . ." He mumbled. "Please?"  
  
Joker sat down on the bed like an angry mother and scowled, but didn't take Bruce's hand. What was to say he wouldn't crush his fingers again?  
  
Bruce's arm went limp and he reluctantly looked up. He winced when he saw the Joker's expression and dropped his head again, wishing he could cry.  
  
*Don't do that,* Joker's inner self whined. *You're too easy to forgive.* He scooted up onto the bed and made a face, snatching up Bruce's hand as though there were a trap beneath it.   
  
Bruce's hand closed around the Joker's desperately, and he straightened his legs out, ignoring the pain. He pulled back on the Joker's hand, coaxing him closer.  
  
The look on Joker's face slowly morphed, going from determined aloofness to utter confusion. He gave in and let himself be pulled, however, helping by crawling along the mattress.   
  
As soon as he could, Bruce put his arm around the Joker's shoulders and pulled him in next to him. Staring straight ahead, he positioned the Joker's head in front of his bare shoulder and pressed him into his chest.  
  
"Tell me what you want me to do." He said quietly.  
  
Joker took a while to think, limply allowing himself to be held. But the longer he thought about it, the more the embrace burned. It stung his skin like fire, peeling the flesh back to rip at his bones. It drove him mad.   
  
Batman. Bruce. Death. Add those things together and the Joker could see nothing.   
  
He made a soft choking noise... fell silent... and then halted his breathing for almost half a minute.   
  
"No," he finally answered. "I don't want you to do what I want you to do. I want you to do what YOU want to do." Joker pulled away a little bit. "And if that means I have to give up my chance at being happy... so be it. I'll leave. I can go someplace else. If worse comes to worse I can always make use of those delightful bridges around town." His tone was anything but light-hearted.   
  
Bruce pulled Joker back against him.  
  
"I'm not really good at doing things for myself." He explained. "I often need an outside reason to do anything. . ."  
  
He stopped himself and sighed. Then laughed ironically.  
  
"I never realized how pathetic I am before." He said, smiling ruefully and shaking his head.  
  
"Funny how I never missed it," Joker taunted. He neglected to do anymore moving or speaking, however.   
  
Bruce nodded thoughtfully. "Yeah. You always did see right through me."  
  
"Good thing, too." Joker settled in against Bruce's chest.   
  
Bruce blinked slowly and kissed the top of the Joker's head. "I'd like to say I never thought it would end up like this." He nodded at their relative body positions. "But something I never wanted to admit existed always knew it was a possibility."  
  
Joker nodded slowly and closed his eyes, trying so very hard to just enjoy the moment. "I honestly never really thought about it before that night in Arkham.never made sense until then."  
  
"You seemed to understand things so well though." Bruce said. "You've always known how to manipulate me, like you understood me better than I understood myself. You've forced me to realize some very difficult things. I suppose I'm grateful for that, or I will be when I don't feel like I swallowed a cheese grater."  
  
He paused for a moment, then looked down at the Joker. It wasn't unpleasant, as he feared it would be.  
  
"Do you really hate Alfred?" He asked.  
  
Joker giggled and looked up to meet with Bruce's clear blue eyes. "Not really. He's funny in that old disapproving father kind of way." He decided it best not to talk further about manipulating and cheese graters.   
  
Bruce smiled and nodded. "He is that." He agreed. "I think he'll talk to me like I'm six years old for the rest of my life. Actually, he wasn't as condescending when I was six."  
  
Smirking, the Joker shook his head several times. "Poor, poor, Brucie. At least you have a parental figure."   
  
Bruce made a face. "I never let him be that. I should have, but. . . I don't seem to do anything right when it comes to other people."  
  
He sighed and his posture slumped a little.  
  
"Yeah, you seem to have a problem with dealing with other people." Joker grinned playfully and reached up to brush away a few strands of raven hair from the brooding and significantly darker-skinned forehead.   
  
Bruce nodded. "Yep. And they all seem to fall in love with me anyway." He said, sounding depressed. "And. . ."  
  
*Then they end up dead,* He thought.  
  
"I try to keep people away." He said instead. "People seem to want what they can't have."  
  
"Are you telling me I can't have you, then?" Joker smiled, though his tone was very serious.   
  
Bruce shook his head sadly. "No. But I know I can't keep you. I tend to want the ones I can't have too. I fell in love with the daughter of one of my most powerful, corrupted enemies, for God's sake. How sick is that?"  
  
"Pretty sick," Joker agreed. "But about keeping me... I'd sit in a cage all day if that's what it took to show you I wasn't going anywhere. You can have me if you want me... for as long as I can give anything."   
  
Bruce started laughing. "I wish you'd told me that years ago. It would have saved me a lot of time chasing after you to put you back in Arkham."  
  
Joker grinned deviously. "And you would've taken me home rather than left me in a straight jacket? Is that what I'm supposed to be getting out of that?" He snuggled in closer and rested his chin on Bruce's chest, arching to look up at him, anyway.   
  
Bruce sighed. "I guess that's what I was getting at, but I probably wouldn't have been agreeable before I completely lost my mind, which I'm convinced I've now done."  
  
"Oh, how perfect!" Joker exclaimed. "Now that you've lost your mind, you can communicate with me properly!" He threw his arms around Bruce and laughed gleefully, daring to be forward.   
  
Bruce smiled. Openly smiled. "That explains a few things, doesn't it?"  
  
His smile weakened as he looked down at the Joker, then, with a slight shrug, he rested his hands on the other man's back.  
  
"I suppose if I'm nuts, I'm not really accountable for my actions, am I?" He joked... and then grew serious. "Jack, I have to ask you something, and I need you to answer honestly, okay?"  
  
"I'm not sure I like how that sounds," Joker commented thoughtfully, holding onto Bruce none-the-less. "But sure, I haven't lied to you in a while. Go for it."   
  
"The first person you killed." He said, his eyes boring into the Joker's. "Did you do it before or after someone determined you were crazy?"  
  
"What an odd question," Joker mused. "I'm really not so sure how to answer it, either. I don't think I was a bad person before my... um, make-over. The first person I remember... killing... I..." He had to really stop and think. Years had passed since that night at the chemical plant. "I'm sorry, Bruce. I can't remember my first... kill."   
  
"But after the plant. . ." Bruce murmured thoughtfully. "No. It wasn't the same. It couldn't have been the same. People expected you to be like this, the same way they were so quick to believe *I* killed someone. If something bad happens to you, somehow you're allowed to return the favor. . . It's like the rules society sets out change."  
  
He examined the Joker's face as if for the first time. Truly, he was seeing him very differently.  
  
"You're not a villain at all, are you?" He asked, suddenly seeing a tragic beauty in those vibrant green eyes. "You're just someone the world forgot. You couldn't mold your piece of the world into what you wanted it to be like I did, so you became exactly what people expected you to become."  
  
He didn't wait for an answer. He didn't want a verbal response. Things made sense again. He'd recaptured that moment of clarity he'd had that night in Arkham, that moment where he felt free. But this time, he was more than free. He felt euphoric. Things made sense. Life made sense. He no longer had to function within that tiny, safe hole he'd dug for himself. Yes, bad things happened, but they happened to everyone. That didn't mean that he had to be miserable for the rest of his life. He was allowed to do things that felt good, even if they made no sense above and beyond enjoyment. Everything didn't have to be practical.  
  
He laughed when he realized that he'd just summed up one of the messages of the book that started this whole rapidly-tumbling change in his life.  
  
Giddily, he grabbed the Joker's face and kissed him. And he enjoyed it. And he was allowed to enjoy it. This wasn't about what he was 'supposed' to do. This wasn't about right and wrong. This just was.  
  
He kissed the Joker again. And again, letting his hands slide under his pale, thin arms to pull him closer. Bruce could feel his heart pounding in his chest and his breath coming hard and fast. He shivered as a tingle raced up his spine.  
  
Darkness and death and all the other things that had previously defined him were the furthest things from his mind. When he opened his eyes, he saw white, framed by green. Purity. Life.  
  
And it made him happy.  
  
*  
  
(Because fanfiction.net doesn't allow NC-17 on their site, the rest of this chapter is only available to those who request personally for it. Email RaytheonCentaur3@yahoo.com with the subject: Chapter 19 Part 2. Thank you!) 


	20. Terrible For You

Chapter 20 - Terrible For You  
  
For the twentieth time in about fifteen minutes, Bruce kissed the pale, green-fringed forehead belonging to his lover. For the twenty-second time, he traced a circle around the tip of a delicate shoulder with his fingers. He felt good, but it was mixed with a hint of guilt. He didn't feel like he'd really been able to communicate the depths of what he was feeling yet, no matter what he did.  
  
Still dozing peacefully, Joker made a soft noise and shifted, tickled by Bruce's fingers on his skin. He muttered to himself while burying his face in his arm, talking to somebody Bruce couldn't see. "We'll... hehe.. stray so far... hee..."   
  
Bruce tilted his head down to watch the Joker's dream conversation. He tried to guess who he was talking to.  
  
"No, you don't," Joker protested weakly, his words all slurring together. "I'm... better... hee..." The clown shifted again and straightened out his arm - which made itself comfortable underneath Bruce's chin. "...'e doesn't need you..."   
  
Bruce grinned. Was he talking to Robin?  
  
All at once, Joker was wide awake and blinking repeatedly to get his brain going. "Bruce?" he asked, yawning afterward.   
  
"Mmm hmm." Bruce said, pulling him into an embrace.  
  
Joker smiled happily and snuggled into the large chest in front of him, letting loose another, longer yawn. He closed his eyes and let himself simply drift.   
  
"I'm not getting rid of Robin." Bruce teased gently, wondering how the Joker would react.  
  
"Hm?" Joker squinted and tilted his head to look meet his lover's pretty blue eyes. "Why not? I'm at least ten times the fighter he'll ever be." He giggled softly and balled a fist into Bruce's chest.   
  
"Because sleeping with me is totally out of the question for Robin." He kidded.  
  
"Ohhhh, well that makes sense, then." Joker couldn't help the feeling of pride that spread itself around his thoughts. "Where IS Robin, anyway? I haven't seen him roosting here. Does he not live with you? I thought you said he was your so-... hey! Bruce Wayne adopted a boy from the circus, didn't he? The Flying something-or-others... Is that Robin?"   
  
"No." Bruce said. "That's not Robin. Dick's a cop in Bludhaven."  
  
Joker's forehead wrinkled thoughtfully. "But you've had several Robins, so of course that isn't him NOW. That means... WAS he once Robin? This Dick fellow?"  
  
"I'm not at liberty to say." Bruce said diplomatically.  
  
With a frown, Joker grumbled, "I'm disappointed. But it doesn't matter. I can tell your answer would've been yes had you told me. Otherwise you would've very definitely said no. So there. Ha!" He stuck out his tongue and made a face.   
  
"I'm not at liberty to say." Bruce repeated with a grin.  
  
"Idioso," Joker teased, bumping his forehead into Bruce's chin. "You big weirdo."   
  
"Littler weirdo." Bruce shot back.  
  
Joker started laughing harder, immediately noting the absurdity of the comment. "I may be smaller, but I'm prettier."   
  
"Okay, I'll give you that one."  
  
Joker smiled contently and laid on Bruce's pillow. He reached up to stroke the chin he'd memorized over the years. "I was wondering..." The pale man licked his lips and swallowed. "...about my sickness. If you were... theoretically speaking, able to save me... I wanted to know... I mean that I... what... would you do with me?" Joker averted his eyes, afraid of the answer.  
  
Bruce thought about this for quite a while before answering.  
  
"That would depend on you." He finally said.  
  
"How do you mean? Wouldn't you just take me back to Arkham?"   
  
"No." That answer came immediately.  
  
"Why not?" Joker lifted a curious eyebrow. "You have no practical use for me."   
  
Bruce's expression became pained and confused. "After what just happened, do you think that practicality actually comes into play here?"  
  
Joker winced and felt his face get warm. What Bruce said hurt... it struck a chord. "You won't even admit to who Robin was... What would make me think you'd want me around indefinitely? And what about your duty to the city? Your little clan? What about them? What happens when they come around with questions? What happens when the Commissioner wants to know what happened to me?" He was brimming with questions, and terrified that he'd never live to see the answers.   
  
"Robin's identity isn't my secret to tell." Bruce explained. "I used to think it was, but I understand better now. As for the other things, I'm doing my duty to the city by getting a violent criminal off the streets, and just because people ask questions doesn't mean I have to answer them."  
  
"I'm not a criminal," Joker immediately argued. He made a face and put his hand over his mouth. "Forget I said that. I don't want to talk about it. But... would you really keep me around...?"   
  
"Of course I would." Bruce said tenderly. "I have a habit of falling in love with people who are no good for me. Granted, all the others were WOMEN. . ." He trailed off, grinning.  
  
Joker closed his eyes and snuggled into Bruce's arms, his face serene. "That means you love me...?" He paused to wait for an answer... but then his eyes snapped open as he realized something. "Hey! You were suggesting I'm no good for you! You dirty little rodent!" He growled and bit the other man's chest lightly.   
  
Bruce jumped, then started laughing. "You're terrible for me!" He exclaimed. "And now I need a tetanus shot!"  
  
Joker put a playfully surprised expression on his face and pinched Bruce's stomach. "Watch it! I'll give you cooties if you don't play nice!"   
  
"If you've got cooties, I've already got. . . them. . ." Bruce's eyes widened. "Oh God."  
  
Joker snickered and settled down again... but then looked back up at Bruce, his eyes serious. He didn't dare speak.   
  
Bruce groaned and dropped his head forward. "I wasn't thinking." He grumbled. "Damn it."  
  
All the blood drained from Joker's face as he stared in shock up at Bruce. "No," he whispered. Quickly, he sat up in bed and moved away, his heart jumping and skipping beats every few moments. "NO!"   
  
Bruce nodded, his emotions shutting down again. "It's a distinct possibility."  
  
Joker snarled angrily and climbed out of bed, pulling on his clothes as he went. He was helpless, lost and brutally ashamed... sickened to the core. A wave of tension threw him for a loop as he stumbled to get a good hold of anything. The nearby medical table served the purpose, and the Joker stood there, panting. "I'm sorry," was all he could manage.   
  
Batman shook his head in small, quick, side to side motions. He was obviously deep in thought. "Could be nothing. Had it been the other way around, I'd be worried, but. . . Could be nothing."  
  
"What... what about the bullet wound on your thigh?" Joker inquired, his voice catching in his throat.   
  
Batman's eyes narrowed as he thought about that point, then he shook his head. "The odds against that having any effect are astronomical." He said. "Unless you bled on my leg at some point."  
  
In a low growl, Joker answered, "Which would have been very possible... I AM terrible for you."   
  
Batman shrugged. "I've been dying before. I'm still here."  
  
"And I'm dying right now, and I'm still here. But for how long?"   
  
Intense blue eyes met his. "Neither of us is going to die."  
  
"I am," Joker responded blandly. "And you know it." He swallowed hard and sank down onto the floor.   
  
"You're stronger than that." Batman snapped. "Fight it."  
  
"I can't." Joker didn't even think about his answer when he gave it. He sank into a well of self-hatred and bent over on the floor, holding his head in his hands.   
  
"Damn it, Jack! Think about someone other than yourself here!" Batman shouted.   
  
His thundering voice echoed out of the Batcave, and resonated into the ears of a peeping butler. Alfred had been listening in since they'd started talking.   
  
"Don't SCREAM at me!" Joker snapped, his face contorted with anger. "I only think of you!"   
  
"THEN YOU'LL. . ." Batman cleared his throat and started again, quietly. Controlled. "Then you'll stop talking about dying. I don't want you to die. I need that cycle to end."  
  
Joker nodded quietly and reached up to rub the back of his neck, feeling it suddenly turn rigid. Right about then, he noticed all of his limbs felt awkward, suddenly - tense. "I need to know you love me."   
  
Bruce blinked rapidly, clearing away the shadows that came over his view of the world when the Bat took control. He nodded slightly, and his eyes softened. "I don't know why you don't already know." He said. "But if you need to hear me say it. . . I do love you."  
  
Joker nodded and smiled affectionately. "I did need to hear it. You have no idea how badly. I... won't talk about dying anymore, Bruce."   
  
Bruce nodded. "It's kind of lonely over here." He hinted.  
  
"Sorry," Joker muttered again. He climbed up to his feet and took a few steps toward the bed, but lost his footing suddenly and tripped over nothing, catching himself on the foot of the bed. "I think it's happening again." He squeezed his eyes closed and crawled up onto the covers.   
  
"What's wrong? Are you dizzy?" Bruce asked, concern evident on his face.  
  
"Yeah... and I feel heavy." Joker reached out for Bruce and grabbed onto his knee. Slowly, things changed... the throbbing in his head dulled and his body started to shift back toward being normal. "I'm okay, I think..."   
  
Bruce pulled him up into a tight embrace. "It'll be okay." He said. "It'll be okay."  
  
* 


	21. Unexpected

Chapter 21 - Unexpected  
  
Batman drummed his fingers on the computer console, trying to pinpoint Ivy and Harley's potential whereabouts based on sightings over the last twenty-four hours. He'd eliminated almost sixty percent of the city so far. That was promising.  
  
He was concentrating surprisingly well, with none of the jaw-tightening tension that he was accustomed to. He leaned forward to reach the keyboard and realized he had his feet up on the desk.  
  
A good twenty feet behind Batman stood the Joker, batcuffs in his hands. He was rooting through the weapons cove, again... and had been delighted to discover new playthings. "Soooo... It's been a few hours, now," Joker called. He giggled and chucked the cuffs at the back of Batman's head. "All you do is sit at the computer, darling. Sort of boring for us in the crowd without any knoweledge of them." He put his hands on his hips and made a face. "And I'm hungry. Feed me."   
  
Batman reached back and caught the cuffs before they hit his head... without moving his body an inch.  
  
"What do you want?" He asked flatly.  
  
"You!" Joker hugged himself and laughed softly, trying not to strain his body.   
  
"You already had that today." Bruce said with the slightest hint of a grin. "Pick another food group."  
  
Joker mock-pouted, but dropped it when he realized his lover wasn't even looking. "Ummm..." He walked over toward Bruce and then leaned on the back of the chair, looking down at the top of the raven-colored scalp. "Something warm. And... I'm not sure. Have Alfred make something. Honestly...? I can't recall ever having a real MEAL. Just noodles that Harley used to make... and Asylum food. Nasty stuff, that."   
  
Bruce put the Cray into suspend mode and looked up at the Joker, his brow furrowing thoughtfully.  
  
"Harley made noodles?" He asked.  
  
"Sometimes. But mostly she'd just open the box, dump it into a bowl and hand it to me. She always burned them when she made them. Put 'em in a pan with butter and turned on the flame. Never seemed to work. Smelled awful." Joker winced.   
  
The corners of Bruce's mouth twitched and he shook his head in disbelief.  
  
"No wonder you're so thin." He said, taking his feet off the desk, standing up, and stretching. His back popped in three places.  
  
"What do you mean? Was she doing it wrong?" Joker peered at him curiously. "I always told her she was supposed to bake them. Was I right?"   
  
"I believe pasta is boiled." Bruce responded, smirking. "But I'll check with Alfred."  
  
"Boiled? How strange. Wouldn't it get wet that way?" Joker picked at a fuzz on the chair and watched it float downward.   
  
"I'll check with Alfred." Bruce repeated, finding the conversation was slipping into stupidity too much for his liking.  
  
Joker made a face and sat down in Bruce's chair. "So go check with him."   
  
"Don't touch anything." Bruce commanded as he headed upstairs.  
  
"Okay... can do!" Joker called. Immediately - the very SECOND Bruce was out of sight - his hands were all over the keyboard, mashing the buttons down over and over again. He stuck his tongue out in the general direction of the stairs and then laid his arms out all over the place. After a slight pause, and heavy breathing, Joker resumed his torment of the computer by opening up files upon files and then opening and closing the weapons cove.   
  
Bruce closed the secret door to the Batcave and headed into the kitchen. He knew that Joker wouldn't listen to him, but there wasn't really anything important he could destroy in his current state anyway, since he'd hidden all the explosives.  
  
In the kitchen of stately Wayne Manor, Alfred was busy washing the few dishes that had been dirtied throughout the course of the evening. There weren't very many to speak of, considering the Master hadn' shown his face for supper... but the old butler performed his duties, none-the-less.   
  
In a very calm and normally toned voice, Alfred cleared his throat and asked, "Surfacing for refreshments, Sir?"   
  
"Something like that." Bruce grumbled. "I told you to stay out of the cave."  
  
"I DO apologize, Master Bruce. I only meant to do as I'm supposed to." Alfred set a dish down and perked a curious brow, turning to look at the man he'd raised. "Wearing your evening clothes, I see."   
  
"Helps me think." Bruce said. "And I might have to go out later. Do we have any noodles?"  
  
"The ones on our heads? Or do you mean the sort we keep in the pantry?" Alfred chuckled softly and dried his hands, folding the towel to place it on a rack nearby. "But yes, I believe I stocked the house with angel hair pasta. Feeling a craving for Italian tonight? Tired of Irish food?"   
  
"Just make the damned noodles, Alfred." Bruce grumbled. "You boil those things, right?"  
  
"Quite right, Sir. I always knew you were the bright one of the bunch." Alfred hummed to himself and pulled open the pantry, peering around for the aforementioned food. "So, speaking of boiled noodles... how IS our happy patient?"   
  
"As well as can be expected, I suppose." Bruce said, a little sadly. "Whatever happens, I don't think he'll be hurting anyone anymore."  
  
"Hmmm... quite the relief," Alfred commented nonchalantly.   
  
Bruce didn't respond to that. Instead, he opened the refrigerator and started inspecting the contents.  
  
"I assume by your demeanor that you found my donation useful, Sir? The ones on the medical tray?" Alfred pulled out a box of angel hair pasta, set it on the island in the middle of the room and pried the top open.   
  
"You missed your calling, Alfred. You should have been a comedian." Bruce's voice was even, but he punctuated the statement by slamming the refrigerator door closed. Something crashed inside the appliance.  
  
"I do agree." Alfred narrowed his eyes. "But cleaning up broken jars of condiments sates my drive for fulfillment. I'm afraid I just wouldn't have the time to practice anything."   
  
"If you have something to say to me Alfred, say it." Bruce said as he started pacing the room. "Because this really isn't funny."  
  
"I worry about you, Master Bruce." Alfred sighed and dumped the noodles into a pan. "You've been spending your evenings with somebody who spends HIS planning ways to kill you. I don't quite understand where the romance comes into play. Forgive me for intruding on such matters..."   
  
"He won't do that any more." Bruce insisted.  
  
"Oh? Won't he?" Alfred lifted a suspicious eyebrow and - with a hint of disgust - went about boiling his Master's supper. "Wasn't it he who killed Jason Todd? Such a fine lad. Too bad a crowbar was the last thing he saw."   
  
"We went through that." Bruce said, leaning against the island in the middle of the kitchen. "He said he was sorry. I know it doesn't make things right, but. . . I understand him better now. We're not that different, really."  
  
"Does this mean I should start trimming your evening wear with lavender? Or perhaps I could assist you as you slip into a comfortable straight-jacket. How does that sound?" Alfred stirred the noodles and looked over his shoulder. "Tell me, Sir... What about the Joker could you POSSIBLY hope to understand? Wasn't it only a few weeks ago you told me he was hopelessly insane? And did he not kill a man several NIGHTS ago?"   
  
"That was my fault." Bruce said quickly. "As long as I pay attention to him, he's harmless. That's all he wants. And. . . I think that if I hadn't been born into a rich family, I could have ended up very much like him."  
  
"So... this need for attention... is all one must have to be allowed to get away with murder?"   
  
"I'm not excusing that, Alfred." Bruce said angrily. "But if I can stop it, why shouldn't I? All these years it's really been this easy, and I was too stupid to see it."  
  
Alfred shrugged and returned to cooking. "So shall I order an appropriately sized coffin for him? Should we invite Miss Quinn to the funeral?"   
  
"I'm not giving up on finding a cure for that disease." Bruce protested, then grew very quiet. His head lowered, as if part of him were struggling with the renewed understanding that Alfred was right.  
  
"I'll ask him about Harley." He said into his chest.  
  
There was a long pause where Alfred mulled over his thoughts. He hadn't seen the Master so disheartened in a long while and it upset him greatly. In an ease of motion, he set the pot down on the island, steaming and ready to be eaten... and then navigated around the kitchen toward Bruce. "All will be fine in the end, I'm sure."   
  
Bruce looked up at him, his eyes shadowed by his browbone.  
  
"When has anything ever turned out fine?" He demanded.  
  
"Ummm... well..." Alfred winced and folded his hands neatly behind him. "Excuse me if I can't seem to find an example at the moment." There was a long pause.   
  
"Do you... intend on speaking to Master Dick? He called twice this evening. Something about Christmas plans, I believe."   
  
"When did he call last?" Bruce asked, looking a bit nervous.  
  
"About an hour ago. Seemed fairly concerned. I told him you were out."   
  
"I'd better call him." Bruce said, and headed to the phone.  
  
"And tell him what, exactly, Sir?" Alfred scooped the noodles into a bowl.   
  
"Depends on what he wants." Bruce said, dialing Dick's number.  
  
~"Hello?"~ a voice on the other line asked.   
  
"It's Bruce." came the reply. 'Hello's weren't his thing.  
  
~"Hey, Bruce! You okay? Al said you were kinda busy..."~  
  
"Yes, I'm fine. Just working. What is it?"  
  
There was a sort of 'oh geez' laughter on the other line. ~"Just wondering if dinner was still on... y'know, the plans we made... Don't tell me you're backing out or anything."~  
  
"No. I'm looking forward to it." Bruce said, then switched the phone to the other ear.  
  
~"Ummm... Hey, Bruce? Get hit in the head tonight?"~  
  
"Figuratively, I suppose I've had some sense knocked into me." Bruce admitted.  
  
~"Ummm... cool."~ Dick paused and scratched his neck at his apartment. ~"Listen, you busy tonight? We could go shopping...?"~ He meant patroling, but knew saying something like that on the line would get his ass kicked all over the city.   
  
"Maybe we should." Bruce said, sounding far away. "Maybe it's not too late."  
  
~"Meet you someplace, then? Or hey, I'll drop by the house. I have something to show you, anyway."~  
  
"We should sit down and talk, Dick. Seriously talk. Soon." Bruce said.  
  
~"O-okay. I can be there in like... twenty minutes? That cool with you?"~ Dick fingered the cord nervously and wondered what was going on in his mentor and adoptive father's mind.   
  
Bruce wasn't really listening. He was turning the years backward in his head, guilt piling on guilt piling on layer after layer of remorse.  
  
"I'm proud of you, Dick." He said, his voice sounding strange in his own head. "You've suceeded so many places where I've failed. You might not believe me, but I love you. Very much. I won't say you're the closest thing to a son I have, because you ARE my son, even though I've been a lousy father. . . at least, I'd like you to be. I don't know. I'm not making a lot of sense."  
  
After a kind of coughing sound, there was a muffled scuffling... and a soft curse from the background. ~"Oh! Sorry, Bruce... I uh, dropped the phone. Clumsy. Tired. Yeah."~ He sniffed a little and then tried really hard to think of something to say. ~"I... love you too, Bruce. Thanks."~  
  
Bruce closed his eyes. "You have nothing to thank me for." He said. "You owe me nothing."  
  
~"I'll be over in a while."~   
  
The line went dead.   
  
Bruce hung up the phone when he heard the dial tone.  
  
"I think I scared him." He said to Alfred, feeling like he was dreaming.  
  
"Do tell, Sir." Alfred smirked and offered a platter with two plates full of angel hair. "And would you like something to drink as well?"   
  
"Water. . ." Bruce started, before pausing. "We're going to have to get purple kool-aid. Call it a hunch."  
  
"I never considered you as one for such beverages." Alfred set the tray down and then shooed Bruce away. "I will bring you something to drink in a moment. You may want to check in on the Joker. I think I heard a crashing sound."   
  
Bruce snorted a chuckle through his nose and shook his head. "His ability to destroy things gets endearing after a while."  
  
"Endearing wasn't quite the word I was searching for." Alfred headed for the wine cellar, intent on bringing back something purple.   
  
"You don't know him like I do." Bruce said to himself after Alfred had left.  
  
***  
  
"That was SO much better than anything Harley has EVER made!" Joker exclaimed. The last noodle dangled just outside his mouth before he sucked it in. Not realizing there was a bit of sauce on his nose, he went about squirming happily and reaching for his delightfully purple-tinted wine.   
  
Bruce grabbed a napkin and wiped the sauce off the Joker's nose. "Alfred's an excellent cook." He said. "Although the wine was a little full-bodied for that meal. He picked it for the color though."  
  
"Good choice," Joker answered giddily. He took a gulp from his glass and then glanced at the napkin. "Sorry again about knocking over the motorcycle."   
  
Bruce winced and looked over at the trashed Redbird. "Hopefully I'll be able to fix it before anyone asks any questions."  
  
"Hopefully," Joker agreed... and then started laughing. "It was kinda funny seeing your face, though. Especially when you found the files I changed..."   
  
Bruce actually blushed at that. "Right. The files. Was that REALLY necessary? You could always have written me a note or something if you wanted to. . ." He cleared his throat. ". . .express that."  
  
"But it was so much more entertaining to see the look in your eyes." Joker smiled and took another big drink from his glass. He set it down and then crawled over the bed to Bruce, rolling onto his back to lay in his lover's lap.   
  
"I suppose the term 'dead sexy' seems harsher in print when it's in the 'distinguishing features' section of a bio database profile." Bruce mused. As he spoke, he absentmindedly brushed at the Joker's curls.  
  
Joker arched further into Bruce's lap and made a cute purring noise at the back of his throat. "It describes you, though."   
  
"That's a very subjective opinion." Bruce muttered, obviously embarrassed.  
  
"A good opinion, though." Joker batted his eyes and blew Bruce a kiss. "Are you blushing?"   
  
"Maybe." Bruce said, looking away quickly.  
  
"Awww! This is so precious!" Joker turned and climbed up into a sitting position, wobbling a little bit from the alcohol in his veins. He leaned in and giggled, inches from Bruce's face.   
  
Bruce looked back and noticed the Joker's pupils were dialated and his skin was flushed.  
  
"You're drunk, Jack." He observed.  
  
"Am not." Joker cuddled up to Bruce, sitting in his lap comfortably.   
  
"Are too." Bruce shot back.  
  
"Nu uh... you wouldn't know." Joker snuggled in as close as he could get, curling his fingers around Bruce's clothes.   
  
"You HAVE to be." Bruce insisted cooly. "I had one glass. You polished off the bottle. Just don't throw up on me."  
  
"Kay," Joker mumbled. Deviously, he traced a finger along Bruce's inner thigh and purred, "I'm ready for dessert."   
  
Bruce arched an eyebrow. "Are you?"  
  
"Mmmm... oh, yeah. Yummy Brucie." Joker tugged a little at Bruce's suit and trailed a few kisses down his neck.   
  
Bruce laughed, but the sound quickly became a moan. He didn't drink often, and he was feeling very relaxed.  
  
And happy. He actually felt happy.  
  
Joker tugged at Bruce's top, trying to detach it from the rest of his costume. "I want in there," he growled, taking the belt off afterward.   
  
Bruce was about to respond when a light started flashing on the console of the Bat computer and a soft buzzer sounded. Bruce whipped his head around and his eyes went hard.  
  
"Perimeter breach. Upstairs." He said. "Who the hell is here?"  
  
"Birdboy?" Joker mumbled, rolling his eyes as he sat back on the bed, legs bent at the knees and spread to look through them.   
  
Bruce headed over to the computer, and switched the screen over to the security cameras in the house.  
  
"Damn it. Yes." He cursed. "I just talked to him. What the hell is he doing here?!"  
  
He grabbed the discarded belt and snapped it back on, then collected the other pieces of the Batman costume. As he did so, he watched Dick's progress through the house with Alfred in tow.  
  
"He's coming down here." Bruce guessed. "Get dressed. I'll try to stop him at the top of the stairs, but if he sees you. . ."  
  
He ended the thought by simply shaking his head, then pulled the cowl on.  
  
"Dressed? In what?" Joker started standing up, a light giggle interrupting the progress. He wobbled and grinned, snatching up a large tee shirt Alfred had brought down earlier that night. He stripped off his pajamas, pulled the shirt on, and then went searching for the jeans he'd arrived in.   
  
"No games, Jack. Not now." Batman hissed. He tossed the wine bottle out, straightened up the bed, then raced up the stairs to head Dick off.  
  
Joker raised an eyebrow. "Do I EVER play games with you, Brucie?" He snickered and pulled on his jeans, marveling at the way they showed off his sleek form...  
  
* 


	22. Anger Management

Chapter 22 - Anger Management   
  
"So he hasn't emerged from the Cave in days?" Dick asked, his expression incredulous. "You have GOT to be kidding me, Al." His hand reached out for the grandfather clock.   
  
"I'm afraid not, Master Richard. . . well, except for a brief respite up here to call you." Alfred replied. "There's perhaps something else you should know. . ."  
  
Alfred cut himself off as the clock swung away and a dark, caped form could be seen racing up the stairs.  
  
Dick glanced over his shoulder at Alfred... and then at Batman as he approached. "Hey, Bruce," he greeted in a fairly light-hearted tone.  
  
"You've taken to routing your home number to a cell phone?" Batman responded icily. "You couldn't have gotten here all the way from Bludhaven this quickly."  
  
Alfred sighed.  
  
"Sorry," Dick answered humbly. "I just thought you could use some company, y'know? Maybe... help setting up the Christmas tree?" He couldn't help but glance over Batman's shoulder. It felt like he was... hiding something...?  
  
Batman relaxed a little. "You could have let me know you were on your way."  
  
"Where's the fun in that? C'mon, Bruce! Don't tell me you've lost your sense of adventure!" Dick tucked his hands into his jeans and glanced at what looked like a loose clasp on Batman's belt.   
  
Batman glared at him.  
  
"I don't like surprises." He said harshly. "You should know that by now. Wait here: I'll go change."  
  
Dick and Alfred exchanged quick looks.  
  
"Bruce? Are you okay? You're acting kinda umm... uptight." Dick scratched at the back of his neck and smiled disarmingly.   
  
Batman stopped mid-turn and looked over at him.  
  
"You just figured out that I'm uptight?" He asked with surprising sarcasm.  
  
"Ha... yeah, well... no?" Dick shrugged it off and coughed into his hand. He watched Batman start to retreat, and moved to follow him.   
  
Batman whirled around. "I said wait here."  
  
Dick blinked a few times... and then narrowed his eyes, his brow lowering a little. "Why?"   
  
As though on cue, a crash sounded from downstairs... followed by a choked laugh. Apparently, the medical table didn't make for a good seat.   
  
"What was that?"   
  
Alfred shifted uncomfortably in the background. "THAT was the other thing I felt you should know, Master Richard."   
  
Batman straightened himself up to his full height, and calmly. . . at least outwardly. . . addressed Dick.  
  
"The Joker trashed your motorcycle." He said flatly, then whirled around and headed downstairs to see what the Joker had broken now.  
  
"Wh-!" Dick started, his eyes bulging as the information settled. "Wh-WHAT?!" He spun to stare in horror at Alfred. The look on the butler's face was MORE than enough convincing than Dick needed. He chased after Batman, his mouth running. "What do you MEAN he trashed my bi-nevermind. What is HE doing in the BATCAVE?! Br-BATMAN! Wha- ohhhh my god." He stopped speaking when he was met with the sight of the Joker, prancing around the Cave like he OWNED the place.   
  
"Company?" Joker inquired. "Of the stripping sort?"   
  
Bruce pulled off his cowl, tossed it away, and started rubbing his temples.  
  
"Dick, why don't you ever listen to me when you're not wearing the mask?" He muttered.  
  
He was surprisingly calm. Numb, almost. He knew this was going to be bad, but what could he do? The secret was out.  
  
He almost felt relieved.  
  
"Listen to you?! Bruce, there's a PSYCOPATH standing ten feet away from you!" Dick pointed for emphasis, a sort of strange anger boiling in the back of his throat. "Is THIS where he's been the past few weeks? You've been harboring a lunatic? Have you gone MAD?"   
  
"No. I've gone sane." Bruce said calmly. However, there was a pleading, a desperation, in his eyes. "He's still destructive, granted, but he's not murderous anymore. I figured it out, Dick. It was so simple, and we've been chasing our tails and screwing up for so many years. Things are better now."  
  
He sighed and reached out for his 'son'.  
  
"I'd never tell you anything that would put you in danger unwittingly, Dick. Please trust me."  
  
Out of Bruce's sight, Joker folded his arms and stuck out the very tip of his tongue in a taunting fashion. He and Dick met eyes for a brief instant.   
  
It was enough.  
  
Dick felt like his world was crashing down around him. What was going on?! Everything he thought he'd known about Bruce... about the way his mind worked... all for nothing? "I'm not sure I CAN trust you," he said lowly, each word measured. His eyes were ensnared, unable to tear away from the green ones he'd found.   
  
Bruce followed Dick's line of sight, hurt but hiding it. He probably deserved that response. As he turned around, he realized that Dick was staring at the Joker, and the Joker was looking rather smug.  
  
He put two and two together.  
  
"Damn it, Jack, you're not helping." He snapped.  
  
"Wasn't trying to," Joker muttered.   
  
"I'm sorry... Jack?" Dick interjected. "What? Jack? Who's Jack? Joker? You're calling him Jack? What is that? A pet name?" Dick came down a step and glared.   
  
"Mister Jack to you!" Joker grinned and walked over to the computer, settling himself very comfortably into the chair.   
  
Bruce's eyes flashed at the Joker violently.  
  
"Ignore him." He told Dick. "He's just trying to rile you. He gets jealous if I pay attention to anything but him."  
  
"I can't believe I'm hearing this!" Dick gestured wildly and glanced at Alfred for support. He found the butler quite unwilling to get involved. "Bruce. Bruce, listen to me: You're talking like you KNOW him or something. Like you're friends. He's a KILLER, remember? Do I have to remind you of Babs? Jason? Sarah?" He pushed by Bruce on the way downstairs.   
  
Joker tapped his fingers on the armrests and put on a sweet look. "Loosen up, birdboy. Go pluck someone else's feathers."  
  
"You-" Dick threatened, his face turning a darker shade.   
  
Bruce raced down to get in-between them.  
  
"I'm aware of that, Dick. ALL of it. And let's not mention too many names, okay?"  
  
He put his hand on Dick's shoulder and looked at the younger man intently.  
  
"Listen to me." He said. "You're not going to like what I'm about to say, but listen, alright?"  
  
"Do I have another option?" Dick folded his arms and stood rigid, his eyes smoldering with momentarily checked rage.   
  
Joker put a hand behind his left ear and smiled.   
  
"You know there's ALWAYS another option." Bruce said sternly, then lashed out and smacked the Joker's hand down without even looking behind him.  
  
Joker whimpered and nursed his hand, glaring up at the back of Bruce's head. *How dare he?* "Jerk," he hissed. "I thought we were over with the abuse. Delicate skin, remember?"   
  
Dick took in a deep breath and held it.   
  
"And I thought you cared." Bruce grumbled over his shoulder. "This is hard enough. Stop making it worse."  
  
Joker fell silent and averted his eyes.   
  
Bruce sighed, set his jaw, then looked back at Dick.  
  
"Alright. You just heard part of it. I'll spare you the gory details, but basically, I've had my eyes opened."  
  
He smiled sadly and squeezed Dick's shoulder.  
  
"I'm sorry, Dick. For everything. I hope it's not too late for us. . . to. . . have something."  
  
"Have something?" Dick gawked at the Joker as he took a step backward, shrugging off Bruce's hand. "You... had your eyes opened? Don't tell me... you..." He choked and a crack of a smile quickly turned back into a scowl, revealing the unease in his mind. "You... Bruce... the Joker? The JOKER? THE Joker?"   
  
"Jack," a quiet voice corrected.   
  
There was a moment where everything seemed to stop. Dick wasn't even aware he was moving until his hands were buried under the pale chin of the one man he hated more than anyone else. He pulled back one arm to deliver a fistful of pain, quick and more eager than he'd been to hurt someone in a long while. Joker choked under the hand still around his neck, eyes wide and staring up at Bruce.   
  
Bruce lunged at Dick and grabbed his coiled fist, while his other hand attacked the elbow of the arm throttling the Joker.  
  
"Dick. Please. Don't." He said, trying to control his panic. "Don't do this. Try to understand."  
  
"WHAT IS THERE TO UNDERSTAND?!" Dick raged. His eyes were tearing up, making his vision cloudy. "There is a MONSTER sitting in the Cave and you're telling me to understand!" He dug his fingernails into the Joker's throat, pinching off his bloodflow.   
  
Alfred hurried down the stairs, but lingered in the background. He fidgeted nervously.   
  
"No!" Bruce screamed as he heard the Joker choke. Without thinking, he brought his knee up into Dick's unprotected kidney. It was a feral response - a desperate attempt to stop the two people he cared about more than anything from seriously hurting each other.  
  
Dick's eyes widened. In a heartbeat, the hand around Joker's throat was flying toward Bruce's face.   
  
Bruce dodged it JUST in the knick of time. The attack came so close, he felt the breeze created by Dick's fist on his face. Without thinking, he countered with a shot to Dick's stomach. All he could think was, *Stop it! Just stop it!*  
  
Dick doubled over in pain and stumbled to the ground. Alfred was there to protect the boy immediately, his hands spread over the young master's back. "Bruce!" he scolded.   
  
Joker coughed and took in a few sharp breaths, a hint of blood seeping into the cracks of his lips.   
  
Bruce looked at Alfred murderously, but his attention was diverted when he heard the Joker cough. He looked over and saw the blood.  
  
"Oh my god. Jack." He whispered. He rushed over and grabbed the Joker's chin gently, trying to see where the blood was coming from.  
  
Pathetically, Joker winced and drew back a tiny bit, the fragility of his body becomming painfully apparent now. He coughed a few more times, the red of blood on his teeth and pooling on his lower lip.   
  
Dick glared up at his mentor and pushed Alfred's hands away. "That's right. Pay attention to your little pet. Your experiment. That's all he is, Bruce, and you know it." He climbed to his feet and stood defiantly behind the other man. "I'm leaving."   
  
Alfred tried to protest, but it stuck in his throat as Dick marched off toward the stairs.   
  
Bruce ignored Dick as he examined the Joker's throat. Already, blue marks were visible under the pale skin.   
  
Joker wanted so badly to say something remarkably insulting... but was more concerned with the way Bruce was inspecting him. He choked a little and coughed into his hand, pulling it away with splattered dots of red.   
  
Dick ascended the stairs quickly, not even waiting to hear if there was anything further Bruce or Alfred had to say. He left the grandfather clock open, and stormed off out of sight.   
  
"That went well," Alfred remarked - almost a little aggressively.   
  
"Get out." Bruce snapped menacingly. His voice calmed when he spoke to Jack. "Can you breathe?"  
  
Alfred squared off his shoulders. "Well," he spat, turning to follow Dick's footsteps. "I'll let you two waste away together down here. Be sure to call for me should you need ANYthing." His words were laced with a vicious dose of sarcasm.   
  
With a choppy sigh, Joker frowned, shrugged... and then suddenly hacked up more blood. "I..." He was interrupted by an abrupt tightening of his throat and lungs. "...still don't like him."   
  
"Lie down. On your side so you don't choke." Bruce instructed.  
  
*He might need surgery.* He thought to himself. *His windpipe is likely damaged.*  
  
Bruce fought down panic as he guided the Joker over to the bed, since he'd broken the medical table earlier.  
  
"You had to antagonize him, didn't you?" He muttered.  
  
"Shut up," Joker hissed. He made a 'not again' groan as he was forced to lay down, and shook his head. "I'm fine," he wheezed. Already, the sheets soaked up the moistness on his lips.   
  
"You're not fine." Bruce insisted forcefully as he retrieved his cowl and pulled it on. He remote-started the Batmobile, then headed back over to the bed to collect Joker.  
  
"I... I don't want... hospital..." Joker lifted a hand to keep Batman at bay.   
  
"It's not a hospital." Bruce insisted, easily outmaneuvering the Joker's weak resistance and pulling him into a fetal position.  
  
"Good." Joker wheezed and coughed again, closing his eyes as he was moved around.   
  
Batman carried him over to the Batmobile and settled him into the passenger side. Erring on the side of caution, he put an oxygen mask over the Joker's face. That done, he got in the driver's seat and sped out of the cave.  
  
* 


	23. Trouble Rising

Chapter 23 - Trouble Rising  
  
"He just. . . And he was. . . And there was. . . And he tried to. . . And then that son of a bitch. . . DAMN IT! JOKER! WHY?!"  
  
Dick brought his fist down on a low bookshelf in Commissioner Gordon's office, breaking it in two. The unexpected destruction brought him to his senses, and he dropped into a chair, groaning and grabbing at his hair.  
  
"I still can't believe it." He moaned. "Sorry about the shelf."  
  
Jim frowned and flicked the ashes of his ciggarette onto the floor. "You still haven't explained to me WHAT it is you can't believe you saw." He glanced over at the destroyed bookshelf, and tried to remember when Batman had poked around through it. "What happened with the Joker, Nightwing? Is Batman hiding him?"   
  
It had been several days since the lunatic had escaped the hospital. He'd left a man dead in his wake, and would probably claim more victims sometime in the near future. Gordon didn't want to see that happening.   
  
"In the damned BATCAVE, Jim!" Dick exclaimed. "And. . . And. . ."  
  
He shook his head and let out a pained squeak.  
  
"I don't know what Joker's done to him," he forced out. "But he's got him thinking that they have all this stuff in common. That they're friends. . . more than friends. . . I think I'm going to be sick!"  
  
The Commissioner narrowed his eyes and watched the exasperated young man in his office, bringing up the images in his memory of the morning at Arkham. It seemed like so long ago, now. Batman and Joker, laying on the floor... together. The hospital... the sudden disappearance of both men... it made too much sense.   
  
"Are you sure... you aren't wrong, Nightwing?" Jim's voice was gruff, tired after days of fitful sleep. Nothing really felt right in the world, anymore.   
  
"Yes. I'm sure." Nightwing insisted. "It was just something about the way Bruce acted around him. I've seen it before. When he starts being nice, it always means he's enamoured of someone, and he called me that night, and the stuff he said. . . Well, I dropped the phone I was so blown away. This whole thing is just WRONG, Jim. We have to DO something!"  
  
Jim stared blankly at Nightwing for a couple of minutes. He lowered his ciggarette and cleared his throat. "Excuse me?" he asked. He wasn't sure if he was getting old, or if he'd just heard... "Bruce? As in... Wayne?" He stood up and shoved rubbed the scruff on his chin, walking around to the other side of his desk to stare out the window. "Makes sense," he stated calmly.   
  
Dick exhaled loudly, threw up his hands, then started banging the back of his head against the wall behind the chair.  
  
*So. Damned. Stupid.* He lashed at himself in time with the brain-scrambling thumps. How had he made THAT mistake? Was he that overwrought about the whole thing? Bruce was going to KILL him.  
  
No he wouldn't. He didn't care anymore. Dick had seen it in his eyes: something had changed. Snapped. Crumbled. He wasn't the same person anymore.  
  
And if Bruce wasn't Bruce, then how could he be the same? He couldn't. How DARE he! How DARE he take those kind of liberties with HIS life? He'd never understood! He'd never really gotten what their relationship was.  
  
Dick felt, more than he'd ever felt since Bruce took him in, like giving up.  
  
"I take that by your silence, that was a slip of the tongue?" Jim smirked a little bit as he twisted to look over his shoulder. He stuck the ciggarette between his lips and shook his head, brushing white hairs from his face. "I don't have anyone to tell it to anymore. Not that I'd tell anyone, anyway. It's Dick, then, right? You don't mind my calling you that? In privacy of course." There was a part of Gordon that was enthralled by this discovery. It was like opening a present while his parents weren't looking.   
  
"I. . . really. . . don't care." Dick said slowly. He thought about yanking of the mask and tossing it across the room, but barely stopped himself from doing it. He clawed at his cheeks and started laughing futilely. "What a mess."  
  
"It'll only get worse," Jim grumbled. "What do you want to do about this? I can't just let a psychopath stay free in the city. I have to take him in. You understand that. Batman... he... might have to take a very hard fall." There was a pause as he put out the ciggarette. "You gonna be there to catch him?"   
  
Nightwing looked at the Commissioner with the intensity he'd learned from his former mentor.  
  
"If he wants to go down with the Joker," he said, "I'll take him down myself."  
  
"So be it." Gordon shook his head angrily. "But I agree with you. I find it hard to fathom that after all these years... it's come to this."   
  
"You didn't see him after Vesper got killed. He lost it. Pulled away. Very much like this. For a while during No Man's Land, same deal." Dick sighed. "I'm upset, but I'm not totally surprised. And there were so many times that he almost got himself killed saving the Joker's sorry hide. I never totally understood that. I guess I do now."  
  
"I never got close enough to notice." Gordon pulled on his overcoat and rested a hand on the door frame. "Are we headed anyplace in particular, then?"   
  
"Back to the cave, I guess." Dick said, standing up.  
  
Just then, the phone rang.  
  
* 


	24. They're Coming To Take Me Away

Chapter 24 - They're Coming To Take Me Away  
  
In the darkened interior of her clinic, Leslie Thompkins dropped into a chair and rested her head against the wall, closing her eyes for just a moment. She felt exhausted, and more than a little guilty. Drugging patients without their consent wasn't something she normally felt comfortable doing, and drugging Bruce had been unthinkable before tonight. She couldn't help but think, however, that he'd brought this on himself.  
  
And something in Dick's voice on the phone didn't leave room for argument. So she'd done what he'd instructed.  
  
She opened her eyes and stood up again, feeling weary. Cautiously, afraid that the sleeping giant in the chair in the next room would wake up at any moment, she crept over to him, checked the Joker's vital signs, then retrieved the fallen coffee cup from the floor near Batman's limp hand.  
  
A car drove by outside and she jumped in fright. Snatching the cup, she backed away quickly.  
  
She was a doctor. She didn't do this kind of thing.  
  
But Bruce had a habit of corrupting everyone he spent any kind of time with.   
  
***  
  
Nightwing fidgeted in the passenger seat of Gordon's car. The vehicle smelled a bit like cigarette smoke, and it was a choking him a little.  
  
The car went over a bump in the road and the headlights flashed over the sign for the Parkrow Community Center. Dick's stomach tightened up into a knot -- this whole thing suddenly felt a lot more real.  
  
As the car rolled to a stop, James Gordon sighed and shook his head. "I can't believe we're doing this," he huffed angrily. "Isn't it... drastic? Do you think we're doing the right thing, Nightwing? I've been in this business for years, now... and I've seen many things you could only imagine... but I can't grasp that I'll... be losing Him." Nervously, he put his ciggarette back up to his lips, shutting off the engine to step outside.   
  
"He's already lost." Nightwing said darkly, in a voice that sounded more like his mentor's than his own. He wasn't willing to admit to himself that this was tearing him apart inside, because he couldn't see another way out of this.  
  
"You'd know him better than I would," Gordon muttered. Without a hint of care, he dug the burning end of his ciggarette into the hood of his car, tossing it onto the ground afterward. Letting out a final breath of smoke, he marched toward the clinic entrance.  
  
The door creaked and opened and a worried female face peeked out to hush them.   
  
Nightwing brushed past her silently and headed into the room with the two unconscious men. He stared at the Joker for a moment, fighting the urge to snap his neck in his sleep. It was harder than usual to resist the murderous impulse, since the primary reason to follow that edict was slumped unconscious in the chair next to him.  
  
*Why, Bruce?* He wondered. *Were you really that lonely? Why do you always go to everyone but me?*  
  
He knew there'd never be an answer to that question, and he really didn't know that he wanted to hear one, anyway.  
  
* 


	25. The Funny Farm

Chapter 25 - The Funny Farm  
  
In the blaring light of a small and poorly cared for cell, a pale and thin creature awoke.   
  
*Why is it so cold?*  
  
The sound of squealing wheels, someplace nearby, ricocheted off the walls and then faded into the distance.   
  
A few moments passed, and then realization hit. The Asylum. Of course.   
  
The air of the cell was carlessly left chilled, making the Joker's white flesh red from exposure. Pain flowed through his body, throbbing in his fingertips and pounding behind his brow. He felt hungry... weak... lifeless. Slowly, the Clown Prince struggled to sit up, finding that his body was sore and stiff. *Because of my impending death?*... No, of course it wasn't. It was from being on the ground for so long.   
  
The cement ground of HIS cell.   
  
Funny that he dropped by Arkham so often... that it was his. They even had his number on the doorway. And the word "Unknown" right above. How quaint.   
  
He couldn't remember what had happened. One minute he was in Batman's car... and the next...?  
  
But wasn't it obvious?   
  
Joker's face was twisted in anger as he stood up, arms and legs clothed lightly in the pale blue of inmate clothing. His curls were wild, straying down into his eyes and wherever they pleased. A look of homicidal rage gleamed within the emerald, chasing away any false impression of a friendly mood.   
  
HE had put Joker there. Batman had. Why not? Joker WAS just a criminal, afterall. He WAS just a psycopathic clown, hell-bent on the destruction of everyone who dared step into his path.   
  
...Right?  
  
Or was he Jack...? Was he misunderstood, crying behind a ruby leer, clawing for attention and craving it so badly he could only hurt rather than care? Was he a man that could love and be loved in return? One that had perhaps settled the heart of a wild beast...?  
  
No.   
  
Not if he was here. There could be no Jack in this place.  
  
Joker glared at the mirror nearby, knowing very well that cameras and doctors were watching his every flinch. He took a long look around the room, his eyes sad to find his scribblings and pictures washed away. So much work destroyed.   
  
There could be no Jack.   
  
The clown sighed miserably, his few pieces of sanity slipping away into an empty blackness as the familiarity of his life returned. He padded silently over to the plexiglass window, pressed the palms of his hands - and then his body - into it.   
  
There could be no... us.   
  
"Bruce," he breathed.   
  
There was nobody there who could call him back.   
  
***  
  
Bruce drifted uneasily through a drug-induced stupor, partially aware of what was going on, but unable, as much as he fought, to respond to anything. It was an agonizing eternity before he could open his eyes and think at all, nevermind clearly.  
  
His vision swam and twisted like a kaleidoscope, and he blinked slowly, trying to focus on his surroundings. They were familiar. He knew that. He recognized the smell, but he couldn't place from where.  
  
With disciplined preciseness, he tried to determine what the last thing was that he remembered. Dick had shown up, and attacked Joker. Then he'd taken his injured friend to Leslie's, and then. . . He'd had a cup of coffee. . .  
  
That seemed to be the last thing he remembered.  
  
He tried to sit up, but his limbs weren't co-operating. He felt a breeze on his neck and face. . .  
  
That sensation got him moving. He forced himself to a sitting position and looked himself over. He was dressed in a jumpsuit of some kind, looked like prison issue, but it was the wrong color for Blackgate. He picked at the fabric on the left side of his chest clumsily, his motor control somewhat lacking, and looked down. His head swam with the sudden movement, and he took a moment to stop himself from falling over.  
  
He definitely felt like hell.  
  
When his eyes could focus again, he turned them on the jumpsuit. It was dark wherever he was, and he had to squint and shift to a place where there was slightly more light to read,  
  
"TY OF ARK"  
  
He flattened out the fabric.  
  
"PROPERTY OF ARKHAM ASYLUM"  
  
Bruce's eyes went wide. How had he ended up here?!  
  
Leslie.  
  
*No. Please don't let it be her.* He prayed silently.  
  
Before he could continue down that road, he thought of something else: if he was here, where was. . . ?  
  
He looked around the room frantically. It wasn't very big, and he was very much alone.  
  
*No!* He thought. *He's sick! He's hurt! Where IS he!?*  
  
He followed the faint sliver of psuedo-light that had allowed him to read the words on the jumpsuit to a small window in the door of the cell. He stumbled over to it, and peered out. He could see nothing but a hint of movement in the cell opposite him, and a small portion of hallway on either side.  
  
*I have to get out of here!*, his panicked mind determined. *Fast. I have to find him. Help him. I have to find. . .*  
  
"Joker." He croaked weakly, his vocal chords resisting renewed use. The sound of something other than the dripping and creaking and muffled groaning that was Arkham gave him a burst of strength. A burst of hope.  
  
"Joker." He said again, this time more loudly. His head felt clearer. He could think properly.  
  
He took a deep breath.  
  
"JOKER!"  
  
His voice echoed through the cell, and, he hoped, down the hall outside it.  
  
***  
  
"Think you're clever, do you? Hm?"   
  
Joker stared down the mirror, his eyes wide in challenge. There was a strange look about them this time. They were desperate.   
  
"Think you know me SO well!" he exclaimed, his lips curling into a snarl. Mockingly, he brought his hands up to his face, danced around in a small circle and exclaimed, "Oh, just put him in there! He'll talk to his cockroaches and draw pictures for us and rant about BATMAN! Oh, we're so smart! Look at how clever we are! Oooooh!"   
  
All at once, his fists slammed into the two-way glass. "Well, you're WRONG! You're just like all the other idiots out there! Just like ALL the other doctors! Boring and stupid and mind-numbing..."   
  
Joker lost his train of thought and stepped away, shaking his head with disgust.   
  
"You think that ALL I think about is HIM! He's all that's ever on my mind! Batman, BATman, BATMAN!" He growled angrily, his fists clenched and shaking aggressively through the air. "Well, I'll tell YOU something!"   
  
A thin finger crooked and then shot out accusingly, poking the glass with a minute 'thump'.   
  
"I don't EVER think about Him! EVER! He never even crosses my mind! And I'll tell you something else!" Joker flew into the mirror and snarled. "I'm going to kill him!"   
  
The words burned and nagged at the back of his mind. How could he say something like that?  
  
With a renewed sense of anger - feeling that he had been quite obviously abandoned - he shrieked, "I'll kill Him! I'll kill Him! I'LL KILL HIM! I'll..." He trailed off, stumbling backwards as a fire erupted inside his head. "...ki..." The room wavered and tilted. "...kill..."   
  
Joker slumped down onto the floor, a soft giggle lofting up to the speakers. "...Him..." His voice was barely above a whisper, mingling too much with the increasing pant of laughter to be heard. Over the course of several very painful minutes, the laughter choked out and turned into breathless sobbing, dry racks throughout his body as he lowered himself onto the cold concrete.   
  
"Bruce," he cried into his palms. "Why'd you leave me here?"   
  
A shudder of misery rendered him silent, leaving the room an icy shell for what used to reside there so proudly.   
  
***  
  
Bruce frantically looked for a way out, feeling claustrophobic for the first time he could remember. Granted, his memory was likely still a bit spotty, but. . .  
  
No, he'd felt this way in Blackgate, too. He'd felt caged, felt like he NEEDED to get out. He slid down the wall into a seated position, trying to remember how he'd gotten out of there.  
  
He'd picked a fight, he remembered. So he needed someone with whom to pick a fight. That meant getting a guard in there.  
  
He slid over to the base of the door and started banging on it incessantly.  
  
***  
  
Joker sat quietly, his shoulder pressed against the wall as he curled up further on top of his dirty mattress. The room was bright - it always was - and hurt his tired eyes. Clenched in weak fingers was a dark bit of charcoal, abused and worn down on several different sides.   
They'd given him a 'toy'. Something to occupy his mind... and theirs.   
  
All along the walls, pictures and words were cluttered into delirium, messily scrawled over each other and entangled until there was nothing that made sense. For a while the doctors thought he'd been writing a story... drawing pictures for it to give it life... but then they became lost as the words stopped making sense. He'd started doodling, again.   
  
Bats and rowboats and hangmen littered the area nearest him, closing in on the tiny section of bare wall that had been spared... or saved?   
  
The Joker hadn't said anything coherent in a long while, now. The last time he'd made a sentence or any acknoweledgement of the doctors had been two days ago - the night he'd been brought back.   
  
He was beginning to get... boring.   
  
The doctors debated for a while, chattering amongst themselves with their clipboards in their laps and coffee mugs in their hands. It was quite obvious that the Joker needed to be 'jump-started', as it were. Something had changed, and they wanted to know what.   
  
A while later, two men with long metal devices entered the room. Both were entirely too large, built like oxen... and had brains to match the animal. They approached the psycopathic clown with a sort of lumbering walk, smug grins plastered onto their ridiculous faces.   
  
Across the hallway, a short man with shoulder-length hair lifted one eyebrow, peering through his plexiglass window and into that of the Joker's. A sudden flash of light filled the hall and lit up his face, the grin of the Mad Hatter visible even in the late hours of Arkham's lonely nights. "How... intriguing," he muttered.   
  
A horrified scream echoed throughout the hall.   
  
***  
  
Bruce lifted his head up off the ground as he heard footsteps approach. He pulled the wire he'd been fiddling with back out of the hallway, and stashed it under the thin mattress... then grabbed a book and pretended he was reading. A few moments later, he heard the sounds of the door to his cell being unlocked. He looked up from his book.  
  
"Good evening, Bruce." One of the doctors said as half a dozen of them entered the cramped space. McMurrich, Bruce thought his name was.  
  
"It's evening, already?" Bruce asked regally, turning his face downward toward the book. "Hard to tell when you're in a room with no windows."  
  
"Well, we're working on that." Dr. McMurrich said. "Hopefully we'll be able to move you fairly soon into something more appropriate. How are we doing tonight?"  
  
"I'M fine." Bruce answered, objecting to the condescension but still not looking up. "If you don't know how YOU are, I'm not the one who should be in a padded cell."  
  
He turned a page.  
  
"What are you reading?" The doctor asked. The others that had accompanied him looked eager to write down whatever he said.  
  
Bruce said nothing. He held up the book instead.  
  
"Alice in Wonderland." Dr. McMurrich observed. "An interesting choice."  
  
"Therapy." Bruce said. A woman of about twenty-five, probably an intern, giggled in spite of herself. Bruce looked up, flashed her a charming smile, then went back to his book.  
  
Dr. McMurrich looked at the intern, obviously unimpressed. He made a quick note on his pad of paper.  
  
"So," he began again. "I'd like to talk some more about your parents. I. . ."  
  
"They died when I was six." Bruce said quickly, cutting him off. "What's to talk about?"  
  
"I think that's precisely why we should talk about it."  
  
"Talk about it all you want, I won't stop you." Bruce winked at the intern, having pegged her as an easy mark. The young woman blushed.  
  
*Another Harley Quinn in the making.* Bruce thought ruefully.  
  
"Ms. Ross, please leave." Dr. McMurrich groused. The embarrassed intern turned to leave.  
  
"Can she come back later?" Bruce asked with a fair bit of eagerness.  
  
McMurrich just looked at him and wrote 'emotionally stunted -- makes a point of proving masculinity through conquest of women.'  
  
Bruce shifted during the scribbling for the doctor's benefit, then said "Look, I had PLENTY of therapy for the whole deal with my parents. If that's the reason I'm locked up here, then I think it's a bit extreme."  
  
"You're here because the Joker was holding you hostage, and you refused to leave even when you were rescued." The doctor explained for the umpteenth time.  
  
"Yeah yeah, Stockholm syndrome, I've heard this garbage before." Bruce said, batting a hand at the air dismissively. "The Joker didn't kidnap me."  
  
"You were brought in with him, Bruce, and we've been told that he was manipulating you. Forcing you to do things."  
  
"By who?" Bruce asked, incredulously.  
  
"Batman." The doctor explained seriously.  
  
Bruce blinked at him, then started laughing.  
  
* 


	26. The Menagerie

Chapter 26 - The Menagerie  
  
Bruce grunted as he pulled himself up to the bar - the one that the friendly folks in Arkham had installed in his new "room" - for the twentieth time. He was perspiring lightly, which bothered him a little. Either he'd been weakened from sitting in a four by eight cell for almost a week, or. . .  
  
He didn't want to finish the thought. The whole thing was too frustrating.  
  
Of course, his mind jumped from one depressing thought to another: The Joker. He missed him. He really missed him. It was so hard to go back to hiding, go back to telling people what they wanted to hear, after feeling so open for a few days.  
  
It hurt. It hurt deeply. What hurt more was his suspicion that Dick had put him in Arkham. Who else could have done it under 'Batman's' orders? He knew the other night hadn't gone well, but he didn't think for a second that Dick would have had him committed because of it. He'd been wrong. SO wrong. He'd miscalculated the amount of control he had over his long-time ward, and he was now questioning what else there was about Dick he didn't know. One thing he was sure he didn't know is which had scared Dick more: seeing him with the Joker, or hearing him open up over the phone. Maybe it was a combination of the two.  
  
He heard a bolt slide back and a team of doctors entered the room. They were approximately three minutes late. He had a window now -- he could tell time.  
  
Privilege was privilege no matter where you went, and the name Bruce Wayne bought a lot of it.  
  
"Good afternoon, Bruce." One of the doctor's said tentatively.  
  
"Hello, Keith." Bruce said calmly as he pulled on his shirt, smirking at the first-name basis he'd gotten into with the staff. "Am I finally getting out of here for a while?"  
  
"Are you sure you want to do this? We can't guarantee your safety." The doctor cautioned.  
  
"I'm sure."  
  
"Very well, follow me, please."  
  
After a quick shower and a change of clothes, Bruce was escorted to the common room of Arkham. It was a large, windowless room with a skylight in the high celing for natural light, which appeared to be made out of three panes of thick bulletproof glass. At least they'd learned a few things after the numerous breakouts they'd had. All of the doors had both magnetic and standard locks, in case of a lockdown, and all the furniture was bolted to the floor. Bruce supposed this was incase any of the inmates decided they didn't want to play nice.  
  
As he looked around the room, he saw a collection of faces he'd been personally responsible for putting there: Zsasz, Wesker, Hatter, the Riddler giggling at some brilliant idea, he was sure, as well as a few people that he'd put away so long ago, he'd almost forgotten about, and barely recognised. He was trying to recall their names when his eyes met a pair of mismatched ones across the room.  
  
He froze.  
  
Harvey Dent.  
  
The one person in Arkham who knew his secret.  
  
***  
  
It had been days, now... and nothing had really seemed to change. There had been so many promises made, and so many secrets shared... but it was still... all the same. Day after day there were prying questions. There were 'therapy' sessions that involved more pain than therapy. There were moments of lonliness that could eat a man up from the inside-out.   
  
The Joker had returned and it was all the same.   
  
In the back of the rec room, oblivious to Bruce's entrance, the clown sat pressed into a corner, hugging himself by force due to a straight-jacket tight enough to restrict full intakes of breath. The look of pure lifelessness was hidden behind a smooth face mask with eye holes and a slit to talk through. A shudder of frailty racked his thin frame as he shifted, finding that with each passing day, his strength decreased dramatically. The doctors couldn't understand it... and didn't want to listen.   
  
Overall, the Joker looked horrific. His hair was matted with sweat and blood, his eyes were glassy, and there were splotches of red all over his once perfect skin. He tried to remember where they'd come from... the electroshock or the growing illness inside...? He supposed he wouldn't live long enough to find out, and resigned himself to silence.   
  
***  
  
"Well, well, well... What do we have here?" Two-Face said, a lopsided smile twisting his disfigured face. "We'd heard rumors that Gotham's favorite son had come to visit us, but we never thought we'd actually SEE you. How. . . surprising."  
  
"Hello, Harvey." Bruce said flatly.  
  
"Come come," Two-Face scolded. "Is that all you have to say to an old friend, Bruce? Has it really been THAT long? No. It hasn't been long at all, has it?"  
  
The other inmates were now turning to look, intensely intrigued by the exchange.  
  
Bruce glared at Dent.   
  
"It's not you I'm here to see." He said gruffly. "Now if you're going to do it, do it."  
  
"Ah yes, we've heard some interesting rumors concerning why you ARE here." Two-Face said, playing with the playboy like a house cat would a mouse.   
  
"Why do you care?" Bruce asked defensively.  
  
"Because." Two-Face replied sleepily.  
  
"That's no answer." Bruce snapped.  
  
"Why not?"  
  
"Because!" Bruce said loudly. A few of the inmates snickered.  
  
"Because?" Two-Face repeated, grinning wickedly.  
  
Bruce blinked, and realized he'd totally lost track of the conversation. He needed to keep it together, and not let the fact that he was in a room full of lunatics who would try to skin him alive if they knew who he was rattle him. Especially since Dent was seemingly taking great glee in making him wriggle like a worm on a hook.  
  
"Where's the Joker?" He demanded.  
  
"Why do you care?" Dent asked with a chuckle. "Who are you to him?"  
  
"That's none of your business." Bruce said firmly.  
  
"If you want to know, it most certainly is." Dent said languidly, then let his head drop to the side so he could nonchalantly locate the Joker in the room.  
  
"Tell me, Dent!" Bruce demanded through clenched teeth.  
  
"Who ARE you?" Two-Face repeated.  
  
Bruce knew he couldn't allow himself to be cornered like this, but he had to answer somehow. And it had to be at least somewhat honest.  
  
"I don't know anymore." He said, physically deflating.  
  
"What do you mean by that?" Two-Face asked, leaning forward intently. "Explain yourself."  
  
*Why does this sound familiar?* Bruce thought. Then it dawned on him. The realization gave him an idea. When in Rome. . .  
  
"I can't explain *myself*, I'm afraid, sir," he recited, "because I'm not myself, you see."  
  
Two-Face sat back, looking stunned. That hadn't been a response he'd have expected from either of the people he knew.  
  
"I. . . don't see." He admitted.  
  
"I'm afraid I can't put it more clearly," Bruce replied very politely as he began strolling further into the room, "for I can't understand it myself to begin with; and being so many different sizes in a day is very confusing."  
  
"He's lost it! He's really lost his mind!" Someone exclaimed in the crowd that had now formed around Bruce.  
  
"Shut up, stupid." Another voice muttered.  
  
Two-Face blinked, looking a little afraid. The concept of Batman going off the deep end was terrifying, considering what he was capable of allegedly sane.  
  
"He's over in the far corner." He said meekly, all thoughts of tormenting his old friend any longer, any thoughts of threatening him with the revelation of his dual identity pushed away as suicide.  
  
Bruce nodded and started pushing through the crowd. The other inmates watched him, some moving aside as if in a trance. There was an air of respect in the room, which was silent, until the Hatter started laughing maniacally.  
  
"Someone shut him up!" Two-Face snapped.  
  
There was some yelling, some scuffling, and Hatter went quiet.  
  
Bruce ignored it all as he made his way across the room. He froze when he saw the Joker.  
  
Bursts of muttered commentaries and explanations crackled through the crowd that had followed Bruce.  
  
It was, however, when the room went silent, that the Joker actually looked up. There was a severe lack of recognition in his eyes... and instead a certain bitter - and quiet - anger. He remained motionless beyond raising his masked face, only barely breathing.   
  
Bruce looked back into those hate-filled green eyes and choked on his own breath. What had happened? Why wasn't he saying anything? What could he do? . . . So many questions filled his mind that none of them made it out.  
  
Joker broke the gaze, tilting his head downward again. He pulled his legs in closer and closed his eyes. He was confused and having difficulty processing the information being shown to him. Maybe... it was the influence of sedatives? He couldn't force himself to display any sort of emotion.   
  
Bruce winced. He didn't understand what was happening, and it hurt. Actually, he didn't WANT to understand. That was probably what hurt.  
  
"Joker?" He whispered.  
  
"Batman," came the gruff response. Hostility littered the word.   
  
Bruce felt dizzy and sick as he heard that name used. The Joker was either delirious, or that had been deliberate. His 'friend' was trying to hurt him. Badly. Why? He decided to play dumb, and shook his head as if confused.  
  
"I don't understand." He said softly, not looking back at the mob behind him. "Did he bring you here?" Bruce asked, knowing damned well he'd done no such thing. "They wouldn't tell me anything about you."  
  
"Of course HE brought me here," Joker hissed.   
  
"How do you know?" Bruce asked, knowing damned well he'd done no such thing.  
  
Joker giggled a little and rolled his head off to the side, wincing behind the mask. In truth, he didn't have a clue... but that didn't mean he was about to admit it. No words formed on his lips.   
  
"He didn't put me here, that's for sure." Bruce continued, hoping Joker would get the hint.  
  
"Sure he did," Joker mumbled. He tried really hard to clear his mind, then, knowing he'd been heavily drugged before being allowed into the rec room. "And if he didn't... who did?"   
  
"Nightwing."  
  
"He's such a dork." The Joker continued to lean until he slumped down against the floor.   
  
"Well, he learned from Batman. That's to be expected." Bruce responded, crouching down next to the Joker.  
  
"Take me home," Joker blurted suddenly. "It hurts." He blinked a few times and puzzled over himself.   
  
"I'm working on that." Bruce whispered. "Where are they keeping you? The same cell?"  
  
Joker nodded slowly against the cold floor. He stared at Two-Face across the room, his eyes blurry and reddened.   
  
"Okay." Bruce said, knowing where the Joker was looking, but not wanting to look back and make it obvious. "How're you feeling, Jack?"  
  
"Like a freshly baked muffin," Joker growled. "More like a burned one." He averted his eyes from Two-Face, and met with Bruce's. "It hurts," he repeated slowly.  
  
"What kind of muffin?" Bruce asked, then blinked and shook his head. "Nevermind. Have they hurt you here? The guards or the doctors or anyone?"  
  
For the first time tonight, the Joker broke into a peal of laughter. He wheezed throughout it, and then settled down to speak. "I'll give you one guess, Brucie. The doctors exhaust me with relentless questions, and send the guards in with electroshock to stimulate me. At night I receive several lovely visits, in which I'm treated like royalty, of course... only with a little more blood and pain, you know? And then there're the... others." His voice quieted. "I'm not the most popular person right now." After a meaningful pause, he added, "And have you noticed the drugs pumping through my veins? They really do make it hard to think straight."   
  
"What do you mean you're not the most popular person right now?" Bruce asked slowly. His eyes narrowed, and his fists slowly clenched, then unclenched as he fought between the two warring sides of him. The rational voice said 'don't blow your cover', while the furious, vengeful child in him roared to be unleashed.   
  
"Everyone's been taking advantage of me," Joker explained. "I'm so... pathetic right now." The words were said with disgust as he glanced around. "I'm an easy target for the others."   
  
Bruce nodded, moving in slow motion. A muscle in his neck twitched as he gritted his teeth against the urge to start smashing heads.  
  
"Who?" He asked darkly.  
  
Joker fidgeted in his straight jacket and shifted. The mask was getting really uncomfortable. "Ugly, Croc and Hat-boy..." He paused. "Spooky, too. Mostly the guards, though."  
  
Bruce quickly unfastened the Joker's mask and pulled it away from his face.  
  
"Two-Face, Killer Croc and Scarecrow?" He whispered.  
  
"You missed Mad Hatter," Joker corrected, hoping Bruce wouldn't remind him that his left eye was swollen, and that there were very visible burn marks on his forehead and throat.   
  
"Hat-Boy. Right. I thought Scarecrow, hat. . . nevermind." Bruce peered into the Joker's face, zeroing in on his forehead. Must be marks from the electroshock. His fists balled up again.  
  
"You're really dense today," Joker said quietly. "Scarecrow, too. It's why I said Spooky. C'mon... don't tell me you're losing your edge being here." He tried really hard to resist looking upward.  
  
Bruce rubbed at his eyes.   
  
"Sorry. You're not the only one they're shoving full of drugs." He admitted. "I was palming the pills, so they've taken to shoving needles in me. I can't really fight that without raising suspicions."  
  
"Birds should have their wings clipped," Joker stated quickly, completely changing the subject. He watched Bruce's eyes for any sign of hope that they'd ever leave this place.   
  
"I disagree. It's much better when they can fly free." Blue eyes bored into the Joker's green ones as Bruce hoped that wasn't too subtle.  
  
Joker looked away and moved to scoot back upward into a seated position. "I have five minutes left."   
  
"I'm honestly surprised they haven't figured out they put us in the same room together." Bruce admitted. "No wonder people keep breaking out of this place."  
  
"Then I suppose I won't be seeing you anymore after this." Joker nodded in the direction of an approaching orderly.  
  
"You'll see me again." Bruce vowed, squeezing the Joker's shoulder before slipping away through the crowd. He took a deep breath. His mind felt sharper. Alright. Time to go to work.  
  
His mind started going over what he remembered of Arkham's layout and security procedures, and the numerous loopholes found therein. He could escape easily. It was getting Joker out that would be difficult.  
  
"Time for my therapy?" Joker asked with a cocky grin, not at all surprised when a knee was shoved into his chest. Pinned, his mask was strapped - tightly - back onto his face.   
  
Nearby, the Mad Hatter clapped gleefully and rocked back and forth on the floor.   
  
Bruce froze, hearing the air rush out of the Joker's body. Before he even knew what he was doing, three of the guards were on the ground and the Joker's straight-jacket was undone. A surge of adrenaline cleared his head and sharpened his reflexes, years of fighting off fatigue, injury and numerous other impairments coming to his aid.  
  
Every head in the room snapped around to face him. There was a moment of eerie calm, no one saying or doing anything, not even breathing, before all hell broke loose.  
  
The Joker toppled over onto his hands and knees, panting as he glanced around for someplace to hide. Some of the inmates shrieked and began running wildly about the room, and others laughed. Still, others glared at the Joker and his little friend, considering them in the lowest of regards. The Hatter recited something and lunged for the green-haired man. It would appear he was still upset about their last meeting.   
  
Two other orderlies picked up clubs and started for Bruce.   
  
The orderlies wouldn't have a shot at him for another three seconds, so Bruce used two of them to throw Hatter across the room, conveniently taking out the most intrusive security camera. In the remaining second, he reached out and grabbed one of the orderlies, dislocated his elbow and threw him against the other Arkham employee, knocking them both down.  
  
The Joker grabbed for Bruce's nearest leg, coughing as he tried to breathe properly. He was too sick to handle much abuse, and dearly hoped this was not in vain. If it was, he didn't want to ever go back to his cell. There would be hell to pay.   
  
Two-Face laughed and flipped his coin into the air, glancing briefly at the coin before stomping his foot down into an orderly nearby.   
  
"Come on." Bruce said, grabbing Joker around the waist and looking around for the best way out of the room. He determined that the Joker probably couldn't go anywhere but out the door across the room. Great.  
  
Moving the Joker behind him to keep him relatively out of harm's way, he started around the perimeter of the room, keeping the Joker between him and the wall.  
  
Clinging with all the strength he could muster, the Joker tried hard to keep up with Bruce. His legs faltered and even buckled under him several times, but he struggled, anyway. "Don't let them take me back!" he pleaded.   
  
Bruce escorted him quickly around the room to the door, fending off wild attacks and flailing limbs. Just as they reached the door, he saw Two-Face looming over one of the guards. Quickly, he ran into the hallway and yanked the alarm, causing a large magnetic door to slam shut across the hall, blocking access to Arkham's only above-ground exit.  
  
"Find somewhere to hide!" He barked at Joker, then rushed back into the fray in the room, knocking Two-Face to the ground before the villain could crush the guard's windpipe.  
  
Down the hall, on the other side of the security door, a cluster of armed guards came running, stopping up short as they reached the barricade.  
  
Joker scrambled along the floor of the hallway, gasping for air as he tore the mask away. He glanced backward several times. *Where is he?!* He paused and turned around, but then noticed the barricade beginning to lift. "Bruce!" he yelled futiley. Hesitantly, he hurried further down the hallway, and around a corner into another area.   
  
The staircase was there - spiralling downwards into the basement of Arkham Asylum. Joker contemplated it for a long while before rushing toward them... and disappeared down the stairwell. Somewhere above him, a siren went off.  
  
* 


	27. Questions

Chapter 27 - Questions  
  
Alfred fidgeted nervously in a chair, awaiting Bruce's arrival. He knew this place was a monster that ate up anyone who stepped a foot inside, but to actually be here...   
  
The small meeting room was lit by a single bulb, and had no cover underneath it. White-washed walls and a clean, simple table left much to be desired. With a slight bit of distaste, the English butler noticed a bit of dust gathering on the surface.  
  
Bruce was led into the room by Arkham security. He was restrained, but it was primarily for appearances sake. Apparently, the other 'patients' would get 'agitated' if he was allowed to walk around freely. Fine. He didn't care. He wasn't going to be here long anyway.  
  
He shot Alfred a withering look as he caught sight of him, and the icy stare didn't lessen as he was seated opposite his butler and leg-cuffed to the table, which was bolted to the floor.  
  
"Let us know when you're ready to go back, Bruce." They said. Bruce ignored them: he was too busy silently screaming at Alfred. The guards shrugged and left.  
  
"I'm surprised you even showed up." Bruce growled at the old man as the guards retreated to their posts by the door.  
  
Alfred felt a wave of fear roll down his spine. What if the master really HAD lost it? What if Dick was right? But what if he was wrong...?  
  
"I'm here with rather poor news, Master Bruce." He shifted uncomfortably and tried not to be intimidated by the look. He'd never - in all his long years - felt so utterly unwanted.   
  
"What?" Bruce grunted, rolling his eyes. "Other than the fact that I'm going to die if you and my idiot heir apparent don't get me out of here?"  
  
He really wasn't as indignant as he seemed. He understood in a sense what had prompted their actions, but in case anyone was listening, he'd play indignant.  
  
"Please don't be so harsh, Master Bruce. We're only concerned for your health." Alfred scooted forward slightly, trying to find a way to make the younger man understand. "Dick is concerned for you, as well. I shared with him the results of your test. Is there nothing we can do?"   
  
"I'm allowed to be harsh, I'm officially nuts now." Bruce snapped back, leaning back to balance out the change in proximity. "It's quite liberating, people expecting the worst from you. I'm almost getting used to being watched when I use the bathroom."  
  
He paused to let that sink in, then slowly leaned forward.  
  
"What you can do is get me out of here." He said, suddenly calm. "I wasn't put here by the state. It's at your discretion. You put me in here, you can get me out. It's that simple."  
  
"I... can't do that," Alfred said softly. "You aren't well, Bruce. The Joker... You must understand." He pulled his chair in more closely and laid a hand on the table. "I love you dearly, but I won't allow you to do further harm to yourself. Let us bring the medicine here. Tell me what to do, Bruce."   
  
"There ISN'T any medicine yet, Alfred!" Bruce hissed. "That's why I need out of here, so I can develop a cure. If you'll notice, I'm not asking for the JOKER to be let out of this hellhole. Just me. You have NO idea what it's like in here, Alfred."  
  
Alfred stood up suddenly, the look on his face sincerely upset. "I can't, Master Bruce. I can't do it."   
  
"You CAN, Alfred." Bruce disagreed. "You just WON'T. There's a very real difference."  
  
The older man turned and knocked on the door, waiting for an orderly to let him out. "Goodnight, Bruce. Sleep well." He hurried out into the hallway and then toward the exit, wanting to get as far from the other man as possible. He felt shamed for leaving the young master inside this dreadful place... but how could he let him out?   
  
"Goodbye Alfred." Bruce called after him loudly. "I assume that plot next to my parents is still reserved?"  
  
It was the last card he had to play, but if Alfred walked away from that, he wasn't sure he wanted to live anyway.  
  
Alfred broke into sobs as he left the corridor, having very clearly heard the words Bruce had shot back.   
  
***  
  
"I can't believe I'm doing this," the raven-haired vigilante grumbled.  
  
Nightwing climbed off his bike, moving easily into the Arkham grounds as though he belonged there. He'd made this trip so many times it was nearly routine by this point. Slinking toward the building, he located the cell window Bruce was said to be inhabiting. He was in there, alright...   
  
Dick hesitated as he perched on the ledge outside the window, feeling the beating of his heart inside his chest. After taking in a deep breath, he tilted toward the opening of the window and tapped on the bars.   
  
Bruce whirled around when he heard the sound. He hurried to the window.  
  
He'd taught Dick well. He hadn't heard him approach. . .   
  
No. He really couldn't take credit for Dick. Everything that man had done, he'd done himself, despite his protests.  
  
Allowing himself no more nostalgia, he motioned his ward. . . his son. . . into the cell. He had a feeling this wasn't going to be pleasant.  
  
Dick stayed where he was, narrowed eye slits peering in from the outside darkness. He watched Bruce move closer, sighed and then slipped in through the opening next to the wall. He grunted as he barely managed to fit, and landed quietly in a crouch.   
  
"That was FAR too easy." Bruce muttered, making another mental note of how to fix the place once he got out. Now that Dick was here, and the initial rush of seeing him had dissipated, he remembered that Dick was the reason he was here in the first place.  
  
Nightwing stood up slowly, his hands clenched at his sides. "I'm only here because Alfred wanted me to come." His words were sharp. He was lying; part of him wanted to see his mentor as much as Alfred wanted him to. "Why, Bruce?"  
  
"You just said Alfred wanted you to come. That's why." Bruce said sternly, knowing full well that wasn't what Dick had been asking about.  
  
A snarl rose behind Nightwing's lips as he turned toward the window. "I can leave if you like."   
  
"If you leave, you won't get the answers you came for." Bruce pointed out.  
  
"Would you give them to me even if I stayed?" Dick tensed as he looked back over his shoulder.   
  
Bruce considered this for a moment.  
  
"It would depend on what the questions were." He determined.  
  
"Answer my questions, then." Nightwing turned around again, his dark hair falling down over his mask. "Why? Why now? Why him?"   
  
"He opened my eyes to certain. . . unpleasant realities." Bruce said simply. "I couldn't tell myself that we were all that different anymore."  
  
He sighed. "And I was lonely. I felt understood for the first time. . . ever, I suppose."  
  
"God, Bruce... you don't have any idea how this sounds. That man isn't capable of love. He's manipulating you. You've got to realize that. Do it for our sake." Dick reached out, but stopped and withdrew. "I've tried to understand you. You wouldn't let me close enough."   
  
"Sometimes you have to go a little bit crazy for things to make any sort of sense." Bruce said softly, more thinking out loud than anything. "You're wrong, Dick. The Joker is a walking bundle of emotion. It's his logic that's faulty. Case in point: he's fixated on me."  
  
"It doesn't make it right. He's killed people and you were spending your patrol time busily waiting on him hand and foot." Dick couldn't help the anger and jealousy he was feeling. "He's dying, right? So you can leave him here."  
  
Bruce's eyes turned to ice. He glared at Dick viciously. Was he actually suggesting that it was okay to let someone, anyone, just die?  
  
"Don't do that, Bruce. Don't give me that look. Don't you dare." Dick pointed at him as he took a firm step backward. "That murdering filth of... I... I don't want to see you do this to yourself. I won't let you! Now... Alfred and I... we arranged for you to be released. But only you. Do you understand that?"   
  
"Yes." Bruce said with a nod. His voice was even.  
  
Nightwing turned around and climbed back up into the window, his thin form traveling back to the outside the same way he'd come. "Tomorrow. Try to clear your head. He's nothing to you after tonight."   
  
"Dick, wait!" Bruce said, crossing the room to the window.  
  
The younger man paused, haunched before the leap to the ground. "What?"  
  
"I love you." Bruce said softly, almost guiltily. "Whatever happens, that will never change. I tried to tell you this the other night but I don't know if you really heard me."  
  
Unseen by Bruce's eyes, Dick's expression changed dramatically. He blinked against sudden moisture in his eyes, and inhaled deeply. "I love you, too. That's why I have to do this. You don't have to worry about him anymore."   
  
The windowsill was empty suddenly.   
  
* 


	28. The Media Is The Message

Chapter 28 - The Media is the Message  
  
The large grandfather clock in the foyer of Wayne Manor approached noon, the pendulum swinging lazily in the quiet of the mansion. The hand slid completely under the twelve.  
  
Bong!  
  
A car pulled up outside.  
  
Bong!  
  
The silence errupted into the chattering of dozens of reporters who'd been gathered outside, their voices muffled by the door and thick windows.  
  
Bong!  
  
The car doors opened then slammed shut, barely audible over the increasing din of human voices.  
  
Bong!  
  
Bong!  
  
Bong!  
  
A key was hastily jammed into the door.  
  
Bong!  
  
The door opened. The noise spilled into the quiet house, disrupting the previously peaceful interior. Flashbulbs lit up the foyer.  
  
Bong!  
  
"No comment!" Bruce yelled at the reporters as he pulled a shellshocked looking Alfred inside.  
  
Bong!  
  
Bruce slammed the door, dulling the noise of the throng. He leaned against it, shaking his head.  
  
Bong!  
  
Bong!  
  
Bong!  
  
"I do apologize," Alfred mumbled as soon as they were safely inside. "I hadn't imagined there would be so many."   
  
An uneasy silence fell after he spoke, allowing him to feel the weight of the past few days more clearly. Things had been hard on all of them, but he could only hope for it to be better from now on.   
  
"I've prepared a light lunch."   
  
"Not hungry." Bruce grunted, and immediately headed for the cave.  
  
"Bruce," Alfred pleaded. "Please..." His face was worn with concern, his step light as he lunged forward.   
  
"Can't talk. Dying." Bruce shot back, not bothering to turn around.  
  
Alfred wiped at his left eye, and followed after the younger man. "Bruce, stop. Please talk to me. I'm so very concerned." He reached out, but paused.   
  
"I don't want to talk. I want to work." Bruce responded coldly. "If you wanted to talk, you should have done it before you had me drugged and stuffed in Arkham."  
  
"Technically, Sir... It was Leslie that drugged you." Alfred's voice raised slightly, as though he were offended. "Master Richard proposed the idea to us. I only ever considered it for your... health."   
  
"That's right. Pass the buck, Alfred." Bruce responded in a voice the could wither steel. "The problem is that none of you considered that I might actually know what I was doing."  
  
"Know what you were doing? Bruce!" Alfred hurried up to gain his pace, intending to cut him off before he reached the next room. "How could you have known what you were doing?! You spent days down there with that lunatic... who could've murdered you in your sleep! Did you stop to consider my safety? Did you? He's killed too many to count, Bruce. He was only going to betray you in the end, as well. That man is a manipulative monster."   
  
"So am I!" Bruce shot back angrily, glaring at his butler. "He DIDN'T kill me in my sleep, DID he?! I've taken physical risks before, Alfred! They just haven't personally offended you in the past! He was HARMLESS, and now he's back in there, and. . ."  
  
And pretty soon it wouldn't matter, because he'd be dead.  
  
"He can't die." He insisted, curling his hands into fists as he lowered his voice. "That's not how I win the game."  
  
"There's nothing you can do to stop what's been set in motion," Alfred responded softly. "He will die, Bruce. You need to get on with your life. Perhaps a vacation..."  
  
"I DON'T NEED A VACATION!" Bruce bellowed, his face going red and a vein standing out on his forehead. "Damn it, Alfred! You don't understand! You've NEVER understood! All that insufferable NAGGING! Damn it! Don't you know when to QUIT?!"  
  
"No, sir, but apparently, neither do you!" Alfred stood his ground, not backing away from the man he'd raised. "It is you that cannot understand the situation. You are too far removed from reality, and everything you once held high. There will BE no Joker by morning, Bruce!"   
  
Bruce was violently silent for a long while, his shoulders heaving with inner rage. Betrayal flashed in his eyes, as well as a sense of hopelessness. The only person who 'got it', who really understood, was rotting away in a cell, and he was arguing with a supercillious stubborn old man that wouldn't understand what drove him, drove Batman, if it were spelled out for him phonetically. Alfred seemed to see him as a perpetual child who needed to be told when to go to bed. He didn't need him. He didn't need anyone. He just needed to snatch someone from the jaws of death, to fight fate, to break the rules and win, to show himself that it could be done, that he wasn't a slave to destiny. He couldn't explain that though. He shouldn't need to explain it. In fact, he couldn't explain it, because he'd just be told that he was trying to do the impossible.  
  
He'd like to be told something he didn't know.  
  
"You're wrong." He said finally. "This conversation is over."  
  
And he descended into the Batcave.  
  
"You'll see how wrong I am later this evening... with the news." Alfred stared after Bruce, his voice only loud enough to be heard down the Batcave stairs. "There is a reason Master Richard is not present this morning." He turned around, and started off toward the kitchen.   
  
Batman ignored him. There was work to be done. He began going back over the results of failed previous experiments, trying to find something, anything, that would solve this mystery.  
  
*****  
  
Bruce worked non-stop to try to cure the Joker's sickness for over six hours. At 6:19, a window on the Batcomputer's giant screen began flashing. The newswire search engine had gotten a hit on one of Gotham's most notorious offenders.  
  
He growled. He didn't have time for this. Then again, it might give his brain a break from the current problem.  
  
He hit a key on the keyboard, and the digitally recorded news broadcast began playing.  
  
"This is Summer Gleason reporting outside GCPD headquarters with breaking news. Commissioner Gordon has just finished making a statement detailing plans to transfer Arkham Asylum's most feared inmate, the Joker, to New York, where he is to be put to death by lethal injection. These events were apparently set in motion after a conditional plea-bargain concerning thirteen murders the Joker committed in the state of New York, overturned after his most recent escape from Arkham, which resulted in the kidnapping of Gotham's most prominent citizen, Bruce Wayne. In an interesting co-incidence, Mr. Wayne was just released from Arkham himself, after being treated for psychological damage due to his ordeal. As has been previously reported, the location where the Joker was holding Mr. Wayne is still a mystery, and no demands for ransom appear to have been made.  
  
"Because this plea is now overturned, the death-penalty for the crimes has now been re-instated. The Joker, whose real identity is still unknown, is scheduled to be executed by the state of New York at eleven AM tomorrow morning. . ."  
  
The piece went on for another minute, detailing the Joker's recent mischief, as well as showing archive footage of the New York crimes -- a killing spree at an airport, during which the Joker was assisted by henchman dressed as moose. Bruce, however, just kept watching that opening bit over and over again, forcing himself to believe that it was real.  
  
Still somewhat in denial, he switched over to a live television feed, and started flipping channels. Every report was the same.  
  
Someone had used the fact that he was locked away to push this through. But who? Who would have the motive, and the ability, to do something like this?  
  
He wasn't sure, but he had a short list of suspects.  
  
A few short moments later, the Batmobile roared out of the cave.  
  
* 


	29. Double Or Nothing

Chapter 29 - Double Or Nothing  
  
The floor of the Joker's cell was hard cement, and it had been the only comfort given to the man scheduled for execution the next morning. Why give him a mattress when he would only have use of it for one evening?   
  
Trying mentally to sort this all out, the Joker rolled over onto his back, groaning at the feel of his limbs being made to strain against his restraints. He'd only suffered since that night he and Bruce had stirred up the recreation room, and his hopes of escaping and living longer were dashed away by the whispered information being passed along the hallways. He had less than twelve hours to come to terms with himself, and to admit that his life had meant nothing in the long run.   
  
The impact he'd made would be there long after his demise... but what did it matter any longer? He felt unfulfilled. It seemed that even Harley had given up and left him behind, coldly ignoring the fact that he was being housed in such hellish conditions. He hadn't been allowed out of his cell in over a week, and the memory of Bruce was fading.   
  
The memory of the last few weeks... the time he'd been given to climb out of his never-ending cycle of insanity...   
  
It all washed away in the late minutes of his last few hours in Gotham.   
  
Blood-encrusted lips moved to take in a breath, when behind the walls, he heard a noise. It sounded distinctly like a cracking bone. Opening his tired green eyes, the Joker waited and listened. Something fell, crashed. There were foot steps.   
  
The determined, methodical footsteps approached, growing louder. Soon, the Joker could also make out the rustling of thick fabric, and the jingling of keys.  
  
He saw the light to the magnetic lock on his cell switch off, then the sound of a key turning in the secondary lock. The thick plexiglass door slid open.  
  
From out of the shadow, the Batman appeared.  
  
"New game. Double or nothing." He said in his familiar, deep, commanding voice.  
  
And then, oddly enough, he smiled.  
  
The Joker was stunned by the sight of Batman... and then felt wary of it. Batman... was it alright to call him Bruce?   
  
"Double," he whispered. "Are we leaving, now? Finally?"   
  
Batman nodded, then looked around the cell, feeling a definite sense of deja vu.  
  
Joker struggled to get up, holding his breath to avoid sounding like he was having trouble. His tighter-than-skin straight jacket restricted his movements, making him stumble a few times. "I'm so weak," he immediately offered.   
  
"That's to be expected." The Dark Knight responded, then grabbed Joker's chin to examine his face.  
  
"Damn. What did they do to you?" He hissed.  
  
"Intensified my treatments," Joker mumbled. He kept his eyes downcast, remembering the last few days here.   
  
A muscle in Batman's jaw twitched.  
  
"Tell me later." He growled, then undid the Joker's straight jacket. "Come on. Let's go."  
  
The Joker stretched a little bit, wincing as he remembered the pain in his left arm, and stepped in closer to Batman. He nodded quietly, and brushed back his dirty hair.   
  
"Can you walk?" Batman asked, noticing he was having trouble moving.  
  
"Supposing I can, probably not as fast as you." He folded his arms together and tried to remember to keep his voice low.   
  
"I'll carry you." Batman determined, then whisked the Joker off the ground and carried him out of the cell, the pale man's frail body almost hidden beneath the billowing cape.  
  
He carried him down the hallway and down the stairs to the nearest fire exit. The door was jammed from years of neglect, but it buckled open with a well-placed kick. Someone had probably heard that, but it didn't matter now.  
  
He delivered the Joker into the moonlight, which was actually quite a bit darker than the bleak interior of the asylum. It was enough light to distinguish the black bat on his chest from the grey fabric surrounding it.  
  
"I wore the one you like." He said, shifting the Joker in his arms so that his white face was right next to the black bat.  
  
Joker's thin fingers traced the left wing of the symbol, quietly enthralled by the situation. He couldn't imagine being any happier... beyond suddenly recovering from his illness. "I missed you," he whispered.   
  
"I missed you too, Jack." Bruce responded with undisguised emotion. That sentiment vanished quickly, however, as he pulled a Batrope from his belt and affixed it to the railing of the rusting fire escape.  
  
"Hang on." He instructed, then leapt over the railing, sending them plummeting downward.  
  
The Joker clenched his teeth together, closing his eyes as the wind rushed by him. "Don't kill us!" he pleaded, gripping the front of Batman's suit as hard as he could... which was laughably ridiculous.   
  
"I don't kill, remember?" Batman pointed out. Then they reached the end of the length of rope, and were jerked to a stop. But only for a moment.  
  
With a shriek of twisting metal, the rusty fire escape came away from the wall. Batman had figured it would. It was just step one of the procedure that would get them to the ground.  
  
He let go of the now useless rope, and let them freefall for precisely four seconds, counting in his head as Joker screeched something at him that probably didn't matter. After the four seconds had passed, he fired off another grappling line, aiming for the bars covering the windows of one of the cells on the third floor of Arkham. Those bars, he knew, would hold.  
  
"What are you doing?!" the pale-faced man screamed. His arms had found their way around Batman, and were holding on for dear life. He made a face and hid his eyes.   
  
"Relax. I do this all the time." Batman muttered as they swung out in an arc under the window. He let them rock back upward on the other side, then back down, concerned about dropping down at full speed while carrying someone, even someone as light as the Joker.  
  
"I can't make that," Joker hissed. "I'm going to be broken into hundreds of pieces! Look at how far that is!" He pointed quickly, only long enough to get the point across before latching onto the much large body holding him up in the air. "I'm a land person... not an air person. I don't have pointed ears!"   
  
"I do." Batman pointed out, then concentrated as the ground started rushing towards them again. "Hang on."  
  
"Don't drop me! Don't drop me!" Joker shook in fear and dug his fingers into the suit.   
  
Batman chose not to respond, instead concentrating on the careful timing this manuver required. Letting go of the batrope at precisely the right time, he dropped about five feet to the ground and landed in a crouch, one arm holding the Joker against him while the other stopped both of them from falling forward. There was a moment of silence as his cape settled around them, draping over Batman's form and the ground surrounding him.  
  
Joker didn't dare move for a long time, holding himself still as though he'd fall again if he let go. It was hard to put that kind of trust into somebody's hands that used to drop him over buildings just to make him beg for help. The very next intake of breath, however, he opened his eyes and let out a half angry, half terrified screech.   
  
Batman stood up and put his hand over the screaming red mouth, fully prepared to get bitten. He hurried to the Batmobile, which came zooming toward them in response to the remote GPS homing signal he'd triggered.  
  
Muffled, the Joker demanded to be let go of while he was hurried toward the Batmobile. As they neared the car, he remembered faintly the night Batman had come and collected him from the phone booth so long ago. The memory settled his nerves, bringing him sharply back into focus of the situation they were facing. He fell silent, and looked at Batman with large green eyes.   
  
The Batmobile stopped obediently in front of them, its headlights casting a fifteen foot high shadow of the Bat on the wall of Arkham Asylum. The shadow started moving, then disappeared as Batman positioned the Joker in the passenger seat of the car, then ran around the back of it and got in the driver's side.  
  
The engine roared immediately and the car sped off. It was only then that the guards that were still conscious were starting to get an idea of what had happened.  
  
* 


	30. READ THIS!

Hi!

I've edited the story, fixed spelling and grammar errors, corrected the formatting and moved the entire ordeal onto a livejournal account created JUST for this story.

You can find it here: ( h t t p : / / thegameweplay . livejournal . com / profile )

Just take out the spaces, and you should be all set!

The final chapter is uploaded there, because fanfiction . net isn't the awesome place it used to be... years ago when all of this was started.

Thanks,  
DJ 


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